


The Theory Of Two Centres

by copperbadge



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Amnesia, Canonical Character Death, Flat Holm, M/M, Memory Loss, Mind Control, Pre-COE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-20
Updated: 2008-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 65,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto Jones woke up in a bed that wasn't his, in a flat that wasn't his, wearing clothing that definitely wasn't his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for themes of mind control and memory loss (related to the episode "Adam"). This also includes the canonical deaths of Toshiko Sato and Owen Harper. 
> 
> Thanks to Cathy, Adina, and Spider for advice on fighting, firearms, italics, titles, eggs, and grammar. All are important!

**Now**

Ianto Jones woke up in a bed that wasn't his, in a flat that wasn't his, wearing clothing that definitely wasn't his.

Well, for a given value of 'wearing'; he was stripped to a pair of boxers (also not his, perhaps the most disconcerting thing) and laid out on top of the bed-that-wasn't-his's duvet, covered with a thick wool coat. The coat, at any rate, smelled really good.

He pushed it aside and sat up, muzzily. He didn't remember the night before, never a good sign -- last thing he remembered was arriving in London, and stopping at the job office on his way to the bedsit he'd rented sight-unseen with the last of his money. Then...blankness. 

This definitely wasn't a bedsit.

There was a CD in the room, hanging from a hook affixed to the wall -- no, not a CD, a DVD, with a post-it note in his own handwriting. 

_Play me._

He took it off the hook and looked around. Clothing first, for preference. 

The wardrobe was full of suits that looked like they would fit all right, but rummaging uncovered a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt -- the shirt wasn't his either, he didn't think, but it was almost his size. Armed against the world, he ventured through the bedroom door. 

Nice enough flat, he supposed. A bit sterile, a bit posh for his tastes, leather couch and large TV and --

His books on the shelves. 

Books he'd left in a box with a mate when he bolted for London. His DVDs, too, some of them anyway. And on further inspection he was positive at least two of the posters on the walls were his, though they'd been put in nice frames. 

It took him a little fumbling to get the DVD in and get it to play. When he did, a strange man's face came up on the television -- strong jaw, cleft chin, spiky brown hair.

"Ianto," the man said. "I'm really, really not happy about this."

_Oh, god,_ Ianto thought. _I'm in a horror film. I'm in Saw._

"On your left there's a kitchen table with yesterday's newspaper," the man said, and held up a copy of the Echo. A Cardiff paper. Ianto paused the disc and found the paper. 

September 29th, 2008.

No way.

He flicked the pause off without looking at the television and the man's voice filled the room again. American accent. Bizarre.

"Before you freak out, just watch this all the way through," he said, as Ianto commenced freaking out. "My name is Jack Harkness. I'm your friend. I know you're scared, but keep listening. There's food in the kitchen for you, and the coffee should be on."

Ianto peered into the kitchen. The coffee machine's light was on. He made a face, then came back to crouch by the television. 

"You're in your own flat, in Cardiff. You're safe, I promise. You have the only key -- it's on the hook in the hall, by the front door."

"Bollocks," Ianto said, looking around him. He'd never be able to afford a place like this. 

"You think you're twenty-one, but you were twenty-five in August. You've just lost four years of your life and, believe me, I know how that feels," Harkness continued. "It was for your own safety."

Ianto looked down at the paper, smoothing his hand across it. The top story was about the discovery of a body in the bay, the fourth found in eight weeks. Hardly heartening, given his current predicament. 

"Listen carefully to me, because you have to make a choice and I need you to think about what I'm going to tell you," the man continued. Ianto settled down, crosslegged, his face still very close to the television. "If I've done this right, you won't remember your life in London or after you came back to Cardiff. You did some very dangerous work. You've nearly died several times. Don't believe me, check out your left arm, just below your shoulder."

Ianto involuntarily looked down. There were three long parallel scars running across his arm. Scars that had not been there yesterday, when he caught the train to London.

"I'm not going to waste your time explaining what went wrong, and you wouldn't believe me if I told you," the man in the video continued. "We did this for you. People who care about you, your friends. You chose this, believe it or not. Which makes me so proud of you..."

Ianto watched as this man, Harkness, visibly controlled himself. 

"You have options now. You don't have to go back to that life if you don't want to. I wouldn't force it on you. There's a job waiting for you at Brooks and Barnes, the financial office near the University. It's not glamorous, but being a file clerk rarely gets anyone killed. Show up, tell them Harkness sent you, they'll set you up. If I know you, in three or four years you'll be running the place."

"Or what?" Ianto asked the television.

"You can walk away. Start a new life. Find someone to love, buy a house, make a family. It might not appeal now, but..." Harkness shrugged. "You can have a good life. A safe life."

" _Or what?_ "

"If you come back to us, you have to give that up, is the thing," Harkness said. "The coat you woke up with, as you can see..." he tipped his head, indicating the coat he wore, "It's mine. You want to walk away, keep it as a gift."

Ianto glanced down the hall, where the coat lay unceremoniously dumped on the floor.

"If you want to find out why this happened, if you're willing to take that risk -- think carefully about what you're giving up -- bring it back to me. There's no time limit. Come when you want. Down by Mermaid Quay, the Roald Dahl Plass outside the Millennium Centre. I'll find you. Anytime. Just wait for me there."

Ianto stood up and walked down the hall to the bedroom, picking up the coat, dusting it off. The pockets were empty. 

"I know you're a curious man. Don't let your curiosity stand in the way of your happiness, Ianto."

The man leaned forward and his face disappeared from view. The screen went black. _End of message_ , Ianto thought. 

Four years lost. A man who obviously cared about him, urging him to walk away before he went somewhere that might lose him another four years down the line. Somewhere he got scars he couldn't explain. Somewhere that kept him in Cardiff when he'd never wanted to see the bloody town again. 

On the other hand...

He shook his head and shouldered the coat on. The cuffs brushed his knuckles, but he was tall enough to wear it without tripping on it, at least. And he'd need it -- it was pissing down out. Fucking Cardiff, it was always pissing down out. 

He found socks and a knit cap in the closet, pulled on a pair of shoes that weren't his but fit like they were, and walked out into the rain. 

***

**Then**

"Jack, I think it's me."

"What's you?" Jack asked, looking up from his crossword. Ianto, hands shaking, dropped the front page on his desk. 

"The strangler. I think it's me," he said.

"That's not funny."

"I'm not laughing. I remember -- " Ianto bit his lip. "You have to lock me up, Jack. I remember killing these women. My shoes were wet this morning from the rain. And -- " he fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the black leather gloves that he didn't, actually, recall buying. He threw them on top of the paper. "There's blood on my gloves."

***

**Now**

Cardiff wasn't much different from when he'd left yesterday -- four years ago. A couple of the shops had closed and others had opened. There were buildings with what looked like bomb damage, though it had to have been an earthquake or maybe urban renewal or something. There were some new buildings, too. It struck him as strange that he didn't find this more unsettling, but he was inclined to trust Harkness. Jack Harkness -- familiar name, like something on the tip of his tongue that he couldn't quite figure out. 

Everything he saw confirmed Harkness's story, anyway, or at least confirmed the lost time. The newspapers bore the day's date, September 30th, and none of the films at the cinema or the bestsellers in the bookshop windows were in any way familiar. The clothing was subtly different, and the technology -- thin televisions, tiny laptop notebooks, oddly-designed mobiles. Weird. 

He got a curry and ate it at a dim table in the little restaurant, drying out enough to be presentable as he poked through the shops (Radiohead had a new album out and Robbie Williams was apparently Over, thank Christ). 

He knew where he would eventually end up, because he'd made the decision before he'd left, really. He'd needed to confirm with his own eyes what had happened, but there was never any doubt in his mind. Safety had no chance against the fascination of the unknown.

Which should have been his first clue, come to think of it...

He lurked in the shadows for a while, standing well outside the Roald Dahl Plass, watching tourists wander through. He leaned against the wall of the Millennium Centre and shoved his hands in the pockets of the coat, burrowing into it. A couple of people shot him curious glances, but nobody paid him too much mind. A car, blue lights flashing, roared past him and down into a parking garage. They must have upped the police budget in Cardiff if the cops could afford flash SUVs like that. 

No sign of Harkness, though. 

He pushed away from the wall and walked warily towards the Plass. There was always the chance -- he'd seen every Bond film ever, and _The Bourne Identity_ , he knew from action films -- always the chance that someone was waiting to shoot him, but he doubted it. Honestly, it was Cardiff. Nothing interesting ever happened in Cardiff. 

Then he reached the centre of the shallow basin, stepping up to study his distorted reflection in the fountain, and felt rather a fool.

"Ianto."

He knew he hadn't heard footsteps, but the guy was just suddenly there -- larger than life, standing behind him, putting up his hands as Ianto whirled in surprise. 

"Easy -- I'm not gonna hurt you," the guy said, in the same flat American twang from the video. 

"You," Ianto said, fingers tightening on the cuffs of the coat. 

"Yeah," Harkness replied. He gave Ianto a smile full of even white teeth. "Captain Jack Harkness," he added, offering his hand. 

"Ianto Jones," Ianto replied, taking it. "Brought your coat back."

"So I see," Harkness replied. "Thanks. I would have missed it. Keep it on till we get inside."

"Where are we going?" Ianto called, as Harkness began to walk away.

"I'd take you straight down but it's a little overwhelming," Harkness said. "Come on. This way."

Ianto ran a few steps to catch up with him. Harkness was wearing a short black jacket that didn't suit him at all. When he caught him looking, he grinned again.

"It's yours. I thought it was a fair trade," he said, thumping down a wooden stairway. With a flourish, he opened a door into -- 

"A tourist office," Ianto observed.

"Your tourist office. Sort of. Come in."

Inside, Harkness shook the water out of his hair, brushed it back with his fingers -- was the man capable of looking less than perfect? -- and shed the jacket, hanging it on a coat-tree in the corner. Ianto took off his hat and hung it next to it, then offered Harkness the wet coat. 

Harkness accepted the coat, slung it over an arm, and leaned over the counter to press a button. A false wall slid open, revealing a hallway beyond. 

"Welcome back to Torchwood," Harkness said, and led the way into a lift. Ianto would have been happy to ride in silence -- the lift felt enclosed, claustrophobic -- but Harkness kept talking.

"You worked here for two years, and for two years before that at a larger branch in London."

"Is this some kind of...spy thing?" Ianto asked. 

"Not exactly. We're outside the government, but in broad strokes it's the same. Top secret, gun-toting, witness-interrogating, et cetera," Harkness said. "But we handle...different cases."

"What kind of different cases?"

"It'll be easier to explain in a minute," Harkness said, as the lift opened. "You didn't spend too long considering your options, I see."

"Didn't really see that I had them," Ianto replied. "File clerk? Honestly?"

Harkness just sighed and gestured him through an enormous round doorway at the end of the corridor. Beyond that, two barred doors in a metal cage swung outwards, accompanied by yellow flashing lights and a blaring alarm. 

Ianto stepped through into a jaw-dropping atrium, a huge domed enclosure easily five or six storeys high, centred around the shaft of the fountain that came through the Plass above and terminated in a pool in the floor. The walls were brick, descending to tile the lower they came, and the overall impression was one of a very grand Tube station taken over by anarchist technogeeks. Doors led off in all directions. There were glassed-in rooms on every level. A desk nearby held more computer technology than he'd ever seen in one place in his life.

"This is the Hub," Jack said, his voice oddly muted. 

"Oh," Ianto drawled, staring upwards. "Is that what it is."

"Jack, is that you?" a female voice called, and a woman emerged from a doorway to their left. Pretty; pale face, black hair, Valleys accent like his own. "I was wondering -- Ianto!"

She ran across the platform they were standing on, stopping just short of where he stood as if she'd had some kind of signal. Ianto glanced behind him to see Harkness making a slashing motion across his throat. Harkness lowered his hand with a sheepish smile. 

"Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper," Harkness said. "She's a friend. She's been with Torchwood about a year and a half."

"Hi," Ianto said uncertainly. 

"Hi, Ianto," she said, her voice rich with affection. "Glad you're back."

"Thanks, I think." Ianto rubbed the back of his head. 

"MARTHA!" Cooper called, leaning back to shout down the doorway she'd just come from. "IANTO'S BACK!"

"Brilliant!" came another voice, apparently belonging to Martha. A dark-skinned woman emerged, beaming, and this one did hug him. After an awkward second, he hugged back, then pulled away as soon as he could. 

"And this is Dr. Martha Jones," Harkness said, a bare hint of disapproval in his voice. 

"I'm so glad you came back," she said. 

About eight million thoughts crossed his mind at once. The surname Jones wasn't exactly uncommon in Wales, but her accent was closer to London. She was undoubtedly his type, and she seemed really happy to see him, and there was a ring on her finger even if there wasn't one on his... 

"Are we married?" he blurted, because really could this day get any weirder?

Martha looked at him in shock for a moment, then laughed and glanced at Harkness.

"No relation," she said. "We're not married."

"That's...good?" he tried. 

"Very good," Harkness said, resting a hand on his shoulder and murmuring in his ear. Ianto fought the urge to blush. "Martha's playing medic for us. She supervised your dosage. She needs to do a scan to make sure everything's okay. You good with that?"

"Erm," Cooper said. "There's a Weevil in the exam room."

"Well, shift it," Harkness said impatiently. "Is it dead?"

"A what?" Ianto asked. None of them answered. "Like a...bug?" he tried. 

"Not so much, no," Cooper said. "Jack, how much have you told him?"

"Not enough," Harkness said. "Ianto, this way."

He led him to the desk full of technology and tapped in a few commands. A map of Cardiff appeared, overlaid with odd pink dots. They didn't mean anything to Ianto, but it seemed Harkness could read them like a book. 

"There's a Rift in the fabric of space and time that runs through Cardiff," Harkness said. "It spits things out. Sometimes it takes things. The things it brings us are alien, anachronistic. Each of these points represents a Rift spike. Somewhere the Rift has opened and dropped something here that was never meant to be here."

Ianto gave him a sceptical look. "Now you're just having me on."

"I'm not."

"This is Cardiff, it's a fucking wasteland, nothing ever happens here," Ianto said. 

Harkness looked sad. "I always wondered what you were like before London got its hooks into you," he said.

Ianto shifted uncomfortably, perplexed by the statement. "And anyway, even if it were true," he continued, "there's no way you could keep all this a secret. Aliens dropping out of the sky? You'd be arse-deep in conspiracy theorists."

"That's what we do," Harkness said. "We keep the Rift secret. We clean up after it. We protect the Earth."

"So you're a cover-up," Ianto replied. 

"We, Ianto. You included. The last two years, you've been part of this," Cooper said, stepping forward. She rubbed his arm affectionately and he jerked back, startled. It was her turn to look at him as if he were breaking their hearts.

"This is absurd," he said.

Harkness sighed again. "I thought you might think that. MARTHA!" he yelled. 

Martha's voice drifted up from some other room. "YES JACK?"

"HOW'S THAT WEEVIL LOOKING?"

"WEEVIL-Y!"

Harkness rolled his eyes and took Ianto by the arm, steering him into what he realised was some kind of medical bay. 

"Look at it," he said, as Martha tied a surgical mask across her face. From the railing, Ianto looked down at the body on the autopsy table.

It looked human enough, if you ignored the feet and hands, but there was the face -- a horrible disfigured face, all wrinkles and snout and staring black eyes. Incisors like razors. And you couldn't really ignore the clawed hands, or the knobbled feet with only four toes. 

"That's a Weevil," Harkness said in his ear. "It's an alien. Born on another planet. They live in the sewers in Cardiff. You and I used to hunt them."

Ianto waited until Harkness had pulled back to lean on the rail. Then he bolted. 

Or, rather, tried to bolt. Harkness caught one arm with lightning reflexes and Cooper stepped in front of him, blocking his escape.

"Ianto," she said. "It's all right, sweetheart, it took me like that too -- "

"You're mad," he said, struggling against Harkness's grip. "You're lunatics! That's some poor sod in -- in a costume, or..."

"It's real," Harkness hissed. "Stop struggling!"

"Then let me go!" Ianto retorted, and jerked his elbow backwards. Harkness went down with a sharp exhalation, clutching his stomach, and Ianto swung at Cooper. She ducked and moved and somehow he found himself face-first against a steel girder, Cooper holding both his arms behind his back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Harkness getting to his feet, one arm still across his stomach. 

"That's the second time you've sucker-punched me," he wheezed. He was laughing. "Some things don't change. Let him go, Gwen."

At Harkness's command, the pressure on Ianto's arms eased and then vanished. He put both his palms against the girder, pushed away slowly. He was going to -- well, say something, or try to run again, but before he could open his mouth there was a sharp shrieking noise, a sudden wind that cut through his t-shirt, and a flap of leathery wings -- 

Ianto froze.

Everyone else had backed well away, and they probably had good reason. Standing on the walkway in front of him was an enormous creature, half again as tall as him with a wingspan that was easily fifteen feet if not twenty. It opened its huge, sharp-looking beak and Ianto cringed away, but it didn't attack. It just mewled, then let loose with a high chugging whine. 

"And this," Harkness said, keeping his voice even, "is Myfanwy."

"Myfanwy," Ianto said faintly. He fought the urge to bolt again as the -- oh god, it was a dinosaur, a pterodactyl -- inched closer to him. 

"I always kind of thought it was a joke on your part," Harkness added. 

"What, naming a giant killer beast Myfanwy? You think?" Ianto asked. It clattered its beak demandingly. 

"She won't hurt you," Gwen said. "She likes you."

"For lunch!"

"You're too tough," Harkness remarked. Something slid across the floor. Myfanwy tracked it with a tilt of the head. Ianto eased himself down to pick it up, hoping it was a gun, and found that it was instead a large steak cradled in white butcher paper. "Go on. She wants you to feed her. She missed you."

"This is my life, is it?" Ianto asked, carefully trying to keep the hysteria out of his voice. Animals could smell fear, couldn't they? "Killing aliens and feeding dinosaurs?"

"You make a mean cup of coffee, too," Martha put in. 

"Oh, so, nothing out of the ordinary then," Ianto remarked. Myfanwy stretched out her neck and nudged his arm with her long, incredibly dangerous-looking beak. Moving very slowly, he lifted up the steak. Some kind of reddish sauce oozed off it. Myfanwy backed off, hopping up and down, flapping eagerly, sending paperwork flying. Ianto hastily tossed the steak in a low arc and she caught it, swallowing it in a single fluid movement. 

He could have sworn she said "Ahhh," when she was finished. Then she launched herself up into the air, powerful wings arrowing her towards a huge gap in the masonry. Her nest. 

"She's your pet, really," Gwen said, as Ianto wiped his hand on the paper and crumpled it into a ball. "She won't let the rest of us near her."

Ianto turned and gave her a measured look. She held out her hand for the paper ball, and he dropped it into her palm warily.

"This is real," he said. "There's a secret base under the leisure district and Cardiff's full of aliens and dinosaurs."

"Yep," Martha said.

"And I work here."

"Yep."

Ianto turned to take in the walkways and desks and technology, the _dinosaur nest_ , the medical bay, the fountain and its pool.

"Brilliant," he breathed. 

***

After nearly being eaten by Myfanwy, having an alien brain-scan didn't seem so scary, really.

"This'll take some time," Martha told him, as she fixed what looked like electrodes to his scalp. "It's going to test to see if there's anything left."

"Anything...of what?" Ianto asked.

"Drugs in your system, that sort of thing," she said evasively.

"Shouldn't I be strapped down or something?"

"Why, are you going to punch me in the stomach and do a runner?" she asked with a smile. He glanced sidelong at Harkness, who was watching from the railing. 

"No," he said. 

"Fine then. You can't move about much but you can talk if you want. You must have loads of questions."

"Can't really think what to ask first," he said. "All this James Bond stuff, all right, aliens, okay, but it sounds a bit like I'm the janitor."

"Not by a long shot," Harkness put in. 

"Though you used to be," Martha added, giving Harkness a look.

"Got promoted then, did I?" Ianto asked. "Do I get to have a gun?"

"Yeah, let's wait and re-teach you how to fire one first," Harkness replied. 

"Don't listen to him. If you asked him for the moon he'd find a way to slip it under your pillow," Martha said, which didn't make much sense. 

"So I'm a secret agent. Am I suave?" he asked, angling for another grin from Martha. She obliged. 

"Very. And you look great in a suit," she added.

"Saw all those, in the wardrobe. Are they dress code?"

"They should be," Harkness said. "What, you don't like a nice suit? They show off your ass."

"Just never saw myself in one, that's all."

"Yeah, well, see yourself in them a lot, 'cause I've never seen you in anything else till now," Martha said. "I'm starting the scan. This may tingle."

Ianto stilled, waiting for something to spark and electrocute him, but even the promised tingle didn't appear. It must be working, though. Martha was suddenly absorbed in the machinery.

"Have I got a girlfriend then?" Ianto asked. "She's not going to be best pleased about this, if I do."

Harkness bowed his head over his arms where they leaned on the rail. "No," he said quietly. "You had a girlfriend. She died."

"Oh," Ianto said. "Am I in mourning?"

"Not anymore. It's been a little over a year now. Sixteen months."

Ianto considered this. "Was she in Torchwood too?"

"That's a complicated question," Harkness said. "One thing at a time."

"Not like I remember her, anyway. This whole big...bat-cave, underground...thing, is it just the four of us?"

"Three," Harkness said. "Martha's on loan, she's not permanent. There were two others. They died. Owen and Tosh."

"And I got my brain rebooted. Good to know what I'm getting into, I guess," Ianto mused. "What would have happened if I hadn't? Would I have died?"

"No," Harkness said, and he straightened. "Other people would have. Martha, send him up when you're done."

"Jack -- "

"I'll be in my office."

Ianto watched him go and glanced at Martha. "Was it something I said?"

"It was everything you said," she replied sadly. 

"That's hardly my fault. Nobody's told me yet why exactly they had to take four years," he pointed out.

"And it's not for me to tell. Jack'll tell you in his own time."

"But you were there."

"Yeah, I was," Martha smiled at him. "I made sure we only took as much as we had to."

"You mean I only lost as much as I had to."

"Either-or," she sighed. 

He fought the urge to scratch the faintly-itchy electrode pads. "Who took me -- " _to that place I woke up in_ " -- home?"

"Jack did."

"Good boss, eh?" Ianto asked, thinking about waking up nearly-naked. 

"I've had lots worse," Martha agreed. 

"What happened to the people who died?" Ianto asked, as a thought struck him. "The people from Torchwood. Did I kill them?"

"God -- no!" Martha looked at him, shocked. "They were -- " she gestured, as if she were trying to tell the story without words. "Listen, Ianto, there aren't any easy stories in Torchwood. Nothing's not complicated. Try not to make assumptions."

"Assumptions are all I've got," Ianto said. "Aside from _surprise, dinosaur!_ "

Martha left the machine and came to stand in front of him, taking his hands in hers, pressing them together.

"Jack and Gwen care about you," she said intently. "They trust you. Jack's trusted you with secrets -- you can't even imagine. When we found out...that we had to do this, Jack wouldn't believe it. He didn't want this for you."

"So, what, I should just keep my mouth shut?" Ianto asked, but he could hear that the sharp sarcasm he'd intended came out more like a plaintive question.

"A little blind faith now will be worth it in the long run. Promise," she said. 

"And I trust you too, right?"

She beamed at him. "Ianto Jones, there was a time when you and I used to talk about our sex lives. And not as doctor and patient. S'weird," she added, suddenly thoughtful. "I reckon I know more about you than you do, just now."

"I reckon most people who've met me in the last four years know more about me than I do," he replied. 

The machine behind them beeped and Martha hurried back, studying the screen. 

"You can take the sensors off now," she said, and he began peeling them off his skin. They were sticky, but they left no residue. 

"Neat trick."

"Hm? Oh, well. Aliens. Clever."

Manufactured on another world, he thought, looking down at them. Something that wasn't human had made this. The sky was full of aliens.

Actually, in a sense, it was comforting. One mystery of the universe solved, at least. 

Harkness was sitting at his desk, leafing through papers, when Martha brought him up and gave him a gentle shove through the doorway. Ianto held out the slip of paper Martha had pressed into his hands. 

"Martha says I'm clean," he said. "She says it worked. So, thank you, and all."

"You're thanking me for stealing four years of your life," Harkness pointed out, not looking up.

"Well, better than killing me, I guess," Ianto replied. "What were you going to do if I didn't come back? How were you going to make sure it worked?"

"Watch. Wait. We put a tracker in your phone, another in your car. And I don't need much sleep," Harkness said, still without actually looking at him or taking the paper from his hands. 

"So, civil liberties, not a big concern for Torchwood."

Harkness did look up at that. Ianto offered him the paper again. He took it carefully, then sat back, tipping his chair up on its back legs, studying Ianto. 

"Not when it's a choice between civil liberties or the human race being destroyed by aliens, no. Besides, we're not the Gestapo. We just...do what we have to. Quietly. And hurting as few people as possible."

"That's a lot of power for three people and a dinosaur."

"I'm used to having a lot of power," Harkness gave him a dangerous grin. "You okay with that?"

"Sure. I never got any awards for obedience in school."

"Mmh. Yeah, there's a hot anarchist streak in you." While Ianto was trying to figure out just how he meant the term _hot_ , Harkness gestured to a chair. "Sit down."

Ianto drew the chair up, sat, rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. 

"You want to come back to Torchwood?" Harkness asked. 

"Nothing better on offer."

"That's not good enough. You either want to come back or you don't. If you don't, you need to tell me now, so we can make the last few hours go away as well. And next time you wake up there won't be a video from me waiting for you."

"Playing a bit reckless with your memory-eraser machine, huh?" Ianto said.

"It's a pill."

"Oh, pardon me."

"Answer the question."

"Do I want to spend my time chasing down aliens, getting my arse kicked, and hand-feeding a pterodactyl? In _Cardiff?_ " Ianto asked. He shrugged. "Course I do."

Harkness gave him a smile that was -- different from the other smiles he'd seen. Private. Almost intimate. Ianto caught his breath, silently. 

"Good." Harkness offered him a flashdrive. "Take this home tonight. It'll give you access to casefiles you worked. You can read your reports, catch up on what we've been doing. Don't print them out, don't try to move them to your hard drive, and don't even think about emailing them anywhere. Because if you do, I'll know."

"You know it's funny," Ianto said, twiddling the drive between his fingers. "Martha just gave me this big long lecture about how much you trust me."

"I just met you," Harkness pointed out. "The first time we met, you'd already had two years of indoctrination in London. I don't know what they taught you there from what you already knew, but I'm damn well going to teach you discretion here. I trust you. That doesn't mean I'm an idiot."

"Oh, yes _sir_ ," Ianto said sardonically, and saluted. 

The gutted look on Harkness's face told him he'd misstepped again. He stood up hastily.

"I'll just start on my homework then, right?" he said. 

"You do that," Harkness replied, his voice as level as ever as he bent back to his paperwork. "See Gwen on your way out, she has your ID."

He found Gwen at a desk on the far side of the Hub, sifting through a carton full of photographs. 

"Jack said you'd have my ID," he said. She smiled at him.

"Coming back on board, then? All cleared?" she asked.

"Yep."

"I'm so glad, sweetheart," she said, hugging him. He endured it until she pulled back, her smile going from eager to anxious.

"Do I...like that stuff?" he asked.

"What stuff?"

"The hugging and all."

Gwen covered her mouth with one hand. "Oh, wow."

"What?"

"Sorry. It's just a little strange," she said, her smile turning affectionate again. "No, you're not a big one for hugs. Can't help myself. I thought we might never see you again."

He spread his arms in a silent _and yet, here I am._

"ID," he prompted.

"Yeah -- here you go. Key to the Information Centre upstairs, swipecard and manual lock key for the rolldoor -- we don't use both except for lockdown. Official Torchwood ID for crime scenes, standard fake identification kit..."

Ianto fanned out the handful of cards, blinking. There was a UN diplomatic corps clip-badge, two different driver's licences (one with a false name), a University of Cardiff student card, a hospital janitorial badge, some various government-services cards, and two military IDs. 

"What's UNIT?" he asked, holding one up. _Lt. Ianto Jones, UNIT, Information Technology and Research Systems, Top Level Clearance._

"Mostly, boys who look good in red berets," she said, apparently enjoying some kind of in-joke. "And I, uh." She shuffled a stack of photos resting on one corner of the carton on her desk. "I thought you might like some photos. Last time I was at your flat you said you hadn't taken any since London...you don't have to," she added, as if she were talking herself out of offering them.

"No -- I'd like that," he said, almost snatching them out of her hands. 

There he was, that was definitely him, wearing a pretty fancy three-piece-suit -- with a pink shirt, god, he looked like the arseholes he used to pass on the street and make fun of for having nine-to-five jobs and two-point-five children. 

But he had to admit he looked happy. Satisfied, even. Arms-linked with Gwen, grinning at the camera, standing in a park somewhere. 

The next photo, someone else was next to Gwen, had his arm around her -- 

"That's Rhys, my husband," Gwen said. 

"Does he know what you do?"

"Well, he does now. We don't give him the details, generally."

"He's not part of Torchwood, then."

"Not so much, no. He manages a lorry company. Harwood's Haulage."

"The Hotfoot Haulers?" Ianto asked, amused.

"They've got a new slogan now," Gwen said defensively. Ianto flicked the photo to the bottom of the pile. The third one was another of Rhys and Gwen, with half of Harkness blurred in the foreground. Gwen snickered. 

"Jack doesn't really like photos," she said. "Well, not of him, anyway. Not the kind you can get developed at the photo counter."

Ianto raised an eyebrow and flipped it again.

"He likes that one, though," Gwen said softly.

It wasn't in the park, like the others. It was obviously snapped casually, probably without them even noticing. Ianto, suit jacket off, sleeves rolled up, was sitting sideways on the ratty couch near the entryway, writing in a book propped on his legs. Harkness was leaning against the wall next to the couch, holding a small, indistinct object, perhaps a PDA or one of the dozens of gadgets Ianto had seen on the desk. He had his head turned to the side, tilted down, mouth slightly open as if he were saying something to Ianto.

"Tosh took it," Gwen said. "About a week before she died."

"How did she die?" he asked. "Martha said it was complicated."

"She was shot," Gwen answered. "In the line of duty. She died defending Cardiff. That's her, there," she added, as he uncovered a new photograph. A beautiful Japanese woman, sitting on a high bar stool, and Harkness again -- standing, one arm around her shoulders, her head pressed sideways against his chest. They looked the picture of a happy couple, actually. Ianto glanced at Harkness's office. 

The next photo was her again, sitting with Ianto -- still in a suit -- and a smaller man in a leather jacket. 

"That's...Evan?"

"Owen. Our medic." Gwen bit her lip. "He died just before Tosh. Sort of. Anyway," she added, patting him on the arm and pasting on a bright smile, "take the rest home, you'll suss them out. Jack said he gave you a bunch of old casefiles. That ought to help clear everything up."

"Yeah. Thanks," he said, tucking the photos safely into a plastic bag she offered, along with the identification cards and keys. "So. See you tomorrow, I guess."

"Bright and early. I'll bring the coffee," she said. He carefully did not make a face. 

***

He felt intrusive in the flat that was supposedly his, as if he were living in a stranger's home. He went to the kitchen first, opened every cupboard, learned where he kept the can-opener and the measuring spoons and the tableware. Most of it looked like it didn't get much use. The tiny dishwasher next to the sink was half-loaded. 

There were familiar foods in the cupboards, brands he liked, and flour and spices and sugar and the rest. There were coffee beans in the fridge, which was new. Also take-away from some Chinese restaurant he'd never heard of. He sniffed it cautiously, then threw it out. 

The living room had bookshelves built into the walls, but the one that interested him was freestanding next to the television, full of his DVDs. On a whim he separated out all the ones he didn't remember seeing and put them in a pile next to the -- well, it was a really nice television, that was the only way to look at it. He wondered how much money he made at Torchwood. Quite a bit more than most twenty-one...

More than most twenty- _five_ -year-olds, he suspected. 

A box of file-folders in a lower shelf yielded up information about his bank account, personal credit-card (no debt, how...responsible of him), where to pay the rent on his flat, what his gas and electric bills were. There was an entire file dedicated to his dry-cleaning bills. And there was paperwork he'd last seen in a shoebox as he packed it into his suitcase for the move to London: his parents' death-certificates and his father's will, his A-Level transcripts, some various odds and ends, all neatly filed and labelled. 

He put the files back in the box and scrubbed at his face. 

God, there was so much to remember, now that he'd forgotten. 

His head had begun to ache as he left Torchwood. Given all the talk of coffee he identified it for what it was: caffeine withdrawal. He wandered back into the kitchen, considered the coffee machine briefly, and then put on a kettle for tea.

There was a computer on the kitchen table, which booted to a sterile, newly-installed Windows desktop when he turned it on. He plugged the drive into a port and watched as the desktop flickered away and some new operating system burst across the screen, along with the odd T-shaped hive of hexagons that was apparently the logo for Torchwood. Down in the corner, just before it faded away, he caught the text: 

_Developer T. Sato._

Apparently he had temporary access to a limited number of files on one folder of the server. The rest all demanded a password he didn't have.

The kettle whistled. He poured the water into a mug, dropped a tea-bag into it, and snagged an apple from a bowl next to the stove. Sitting down at the kitchen table, he began to explore what his life at Torchwood had once been. 

Anything to avoid the strange bedroom, with its new bed and unfamiliar pillows and the wardrobe full of suits.

***

**Then**

"I remember killing them," Ianto said. "I remember killing them all."

"You didn't kill anyone," Jack said, pacing back and forth. 

"I'm pretty sure I did," Ianto answered, battling to keep his voice even. He remembered it, remembered the surge of desperate pleasure as their breath left their body. He didn't want Jack to see that. 

"It wasn't you. I won't believe that."

"You don't know what I might be capable of. We both know I'm not right, Jack. Not after all I've seen. Nobody would be."

"Problem is," Jack said, in measured, neutral tones, "You remember killing eight women. Only four are dead."

"They found a fourth body," Ianto said dully.

"Four women are missing. Eight go missing, even Cardiff PD starts sniffing around. Four women, Ianto. Something's in your head. Feeding you memories that don't exist."

Ianto leaned against the bulletproof glass of the cell, studying the stone floor.

"I think we need to find out what it is," Jack said softly.

Ianto gave him a weak smile. "Exploding time again, then, is it?"

***

**Now**

The next morning it took him three tries to get the Tourist Centre door unlocked. He also had to figure out how to swipe his access card through the reader, and nobody had mentioned you had to turn the little key next to it to get the door to roll back. By the time he'd got inside, his fifteen-minutes-early edge was nearly gone, and both Harkness and Gwen were already there. Gwen, as promised (oh, lord) had a cup of coffee waiting for him.

"Not that the suits aren't great," Harkness said, by way of greeting, "but I did miss the sight of Ianto Jones in denim."

Ianto looked down at the jeans and hoodie he was wearing, then back up. "Should I have worn a suit?"

"Did you want to?" Harkness asked.

"It's just that it seems a bit impractical, doesn't it? I mean. Investigating bloody crime scenes, rolling around on the floor of a slaughterhouse, chasing after ghosts, ripping holes in time...seems like something you'd want to dress down for."

"He underestimates the persuasive power of the suit," Harkness said to Gwen. "Don't worry about it. Wear what you want. Wear nothing, if you want. I wouldn't mind. Hey, we should make that a rule. Naked Friday or something."

That couldn't be any kind of appropriate for the workplace, but it was dawning on Ianto that it was hard to pin down "appropriate" when you were dealing with Torchwood. 

"Where's Martha?" he asked.

"Gone to London," Harkness said. "She'll be back in a few days. Her fiance gets cranky if she doesn't go see him once in a while."

"So," Gwen said. "What do you think? Of the case files?"

Ianto shoved his hands in his pockets. "I think there's three great big gaps in the case files."

Harkness and Gwen looked at each other. 

"I linked them up chronologically," Ianto continued. "Even if it made sense to start two years ago instead of four, that doesn't help me to know what I was doing in London. And after that there's months where I didn't seem to do much at all, my name's not in most of the files, and then another month where there's just empty space. And again six months after that, only this time the gap is eight weeks long."

"I didn't think you'd catch on that fast," Harkness said. "I dumped the datestamps."

"Yeah, but it's not hard to figure them out. I know how to work a newspaper search engine. I matched them up to various 'gas leaks' and such in the papers. Obituaries, police reports, that kind of thing."

"Did I tell you that you were in research in London?" Harkness asked. He sounded impressed. 

"Bollocks do I care what I was hired for in London! Why are there gaps in the case files?"

Gwen giggled. Harkness gave her a quelling look. 

"There are things I wanted to talk to you about face to face. The gaps represent those times. We'll get there," he said. 

"When?"

"Today, so settle down," Harkness retorted, and there was just enough of a hint of steel in his voice to make Ianto suppress an insolent reply. "I want to take you through protocols and weapons training first. Come on. Firing range."

The firing range was a dim cavern reeking of cordite and littered with smashed stone and ripped paper. Several targets were set up at varying distances, and there were six different weapons laid out on a table in one corner, along with two pairs of noise-blocking headphones and two sets of safety goggles. Harkness offered him the goggles, then the headphones. 

Ianto picked up one of the guns, curiously.

"Like this," Harkness said, hands already reaching for Ianto's, but Ianto watched in almost out-of-body surprise as he swung the gun up, cocked it, and fired six rounds straight through the centre of one of the targets. It had happened so fast he hadn't even had time to think about what he was doing. He lowered the gun slowly.

"O-kay," Harkness said, muffled but surprised. "Muscle memory's a beautiful thing, huh?"

Ianto looked down at the gun in his hand. He lifted it slowly and relaxed, feeling his body settle naturally into a stable stance. Yes, this felt familiar, felt right. He squeezed off four more rounds before the chamber clicked empty. Not quite so accurate this time: three of the shots were wide of centre. 

"Do you remember how to -- " Harkness started, but Ianto automatically dropped the magazine out of the grip and slotted a new one into place. "Guess so."

The other guns didn't come quite so easily, though he still managed to hit what he was aiming at. Jack showed him how to clean each one as well, though he felt like this was probably something he could have done in his sleep. There was a clear implication -- cleaning the guns was his job. 

And then they reached the last weapon on the table, which didn't look like an actual handgun at all. Harkness took the earphones off, so Ianto did as well. 

"This is a stun gun," he said. "It's a pretty little thing. We make them here, from a prototype that fell through about twenty years ago. Less painful, more effective than a taser, but it's close-range only. The head, here -- "

"Has to come into contact with the person you're stunning," Ianto surmised. Harkness offered it to him. Ianto flicked the safety switch and pulled the little trigger. Blue light danced across the head. 

It was really quite beautiful. 

"You're...fond of the stun gun," Harkness said. He sounded like he was trying to be tactful. 

"Yeah, I can see why," Ianto breathed. He glanced up from the gun in time to see Harkness with an oddly open, pained look on his face.

"I used this in the slaughterhouse," Ianto said. "I read about that case. I stunned two men who were trying to escape. That's...pretty good."

"Tosh never liked carrying a gun. She said she didn't think you did either."

"Beats working in a chip shop," Ianto shrugged. "Now what?"

"Feeding time," Harkness said. 

"Ironic Myfanwy again," Ianto sighed.

They climbed up the walkways, dizzyingly high, up and up and up into the dome of the central atrium until they reached a final set of stairs that led straight into the hole in the brickwork. This stairway was different from the others -- wood instead of steel, solidly made.

"You built this," Harkness said. "Got tired of hauling dinosaur chow up a ladder."

"I'm just full of surprises," Ianto muttered. 

"Yes," Harkness said, stopping a step above him and turning. "You are."

He offered Ianto the bag from the butcher's, then stood back against the rail so Ianto could pass him. It was a tight squeeze. Harkness didn't seem inclined to make it any easier. 

"Normally we only feed her once a week, but she's been off her food for a while. This," Harkness took a bottle out of the bag, "tells her what's good to eat. You put a little of that on there, like so, and -- "

There was a loud clattering noise from the dark recesses of the nest, and then a rustling. Myfanwy, a shadow in the dim light, crowed and squawked. 

"Just like yesterday," Harkness said, over his shoulder. "Hand out, hold up the meat, throw it. There."

Ianto realised he was standing between a man who captained a top-secret alien-hunting spy organisation and a dinosaur. It wasn't the most comfortable he'd ever been in his life. 

Myfanwy accepted the food mildly and didn't seem intent on eating him -- she even took the final bit of meat out of his hand, delicately tugging it from his fingers with the very tip of her beak. Still, he didn't feel really safe until they were standing on the floor of the Hub once more. 

"Chow time for us," Harkness rubbed his hands. "Gwen?"

"Sandwiches!" Gwen called from the conference room above them. "Got your favourite, Ianto, chicken and mushroom."

They settled into the conference room easily enough. Ianto recognised it from the photo Gwen had given him of himself with Owen and Toshiko. 

Gwen had bought his favourite kind of crisps, too. 

"Rift's been quiet, lately," she remarked, taking a delicate bite of her sandwich.

"Small mercy," Harkness said around a mouthful of food. "Can't wait to see what it's storing up for us," he added, then glanced at Ianto, who realised he was staring. "What?"

"He always does that," Gwen said conspiratorially.

" _What?_ " Harkness said, still chewing.

"You talk with your mouth full," Ianto told him. Harkness opened his mouth to protest, then stopped himself and kept chewing. 

"After lunch," he said, when he'd swallowed, "We run drills."

Gwen moaned.

"You're rusty," Harkness informed her, "and Ianto doesn't know them at all."

"They were on the flashdrive," Ianto said.

"There's twelve different protocols and eighteen access codes involved," Harkness said. 

"Yeah, and I did read them."

"There's a difference between reading and knowing."

"Go on then, quiz me," Ianto replied, taking a bite of his sandwich. 

"Fine. Protocol nine." He was talking with his mouth full again. Ianto swallowed.

"Agents on the floor to armoury, small arms, spare clips, converge on target and eliminate. Agents exterior to the floor lock down the Hub using code three-nine-four and monitor via CCTV station in the Tourist Centre," Ianto recited.

Harkness and Gwen both paused mid-chew. 

"Protocol two," Gwen prompted. 

"Item or individual, having been disarmed, is isolated in a cell on level minus-six, minimum two agents in attendance, armed. Agents prep and transfer item or individual to secure interrogation cell two for interrogation or examination. Access code to interrogation cell two is A-three-A-A-three." He studied them. They seemed awfully startled. 

"How long did you spend on those last night?" Gwen asked.

"Not much time." He looked back and forth between them. "Did you not know?"

"Know what?" Harkness asked.

"I have total visual recall," Ianto said, surprised. "I read it, I know it. Really useful for card-counting."

"No," Harkness said. "You didn't say. Ever. But that explains a lot."

"Explains bugger-all to me. Anyway, I don't know where interrogation cell two is, or the armoury, so it's kind of useless." Ianto shrugged. "We'll still have to run the drills. Though I don't see how we're going to accomplish seven, ten, or twelve with only three people, they're designed for six."

"Torchwood is all about improvising with what we have," Harkness replied. 

"Good to know," Ianto said, and took another bite of his sandwich. 

Orienting himself in the Hub took a little doing, because he'd pinpointed the main entry as south, when in reality it was almost due west. Re-situating himself slowed him down at first, but by the third or fourth hour of security drills he was feeling more confident, if also completely exhausted. 

Which was, of course, when an alarm blared out from what he'd started thinking of as the Tech Desk. He flinched out of the chair he'd been sitting in, almost falling over as Gwen ran past him.

"Rift activity?" Harkness called, emerging from his office and shrugging into the long, woolen coat Ianto had returned to him the day before. 

"No -- looks like a pair of Weevils."

"Daytime -- they're getting bolder. Come on. Ianto, stay here." Harkness tossed him an earpiece. "Stay on comm."

"But I can come -- "

"No, you can't, not yet," Harkness replied, cutting him off. 

"But if there's two -- "

"Ianto! Stay here!" Harkness insisted, hustling Gwen out the door. Ianto stared down at the earpiece and then hooked it over his ear, wondering what he was supposed to do with a bluetooth that had no phone. Fancy gear, Torchwood got. He wondered where their money came from.

"Ianto, can you hear me?" Gwen said in his ear. "Tap the little button and talk."

"Yeah, I can hear you," Ianto said, holding the button down. 

"Just tap it, you're feedbacking on this end," Gwen said. Ianto let go of the button. "Better, thanks."

"Keep in touch," Harkness added. "Don't talk unless we talk to you, just listen and pay attention."

"Brilliant," Ianto muttered. 

"You'll get all the Weevil-hunting your wicked little soul wants, just not yet," Harkness added. 

Harkness must be driving; Ianto listened to Gwen give him directions, occasionally correcting herself as the Weevils moved around. After a few minutes of this, Ianto crossed to the Tech Desk and started fiddling. He'd seen a CCTV camera feed at some point, he was sure. Perhaps Torchwood had its own surveillance...

He whistled low as a map of Cardiff came up on the screen. This time the points of light were yellow, and the legend at the bottom read CCTV NETWORK - CARDIFF.

He clicked on one of the yellow dots. A feed came up in the corner. Torchwood had access to what looked like every traffic and public security camera in the city. Scratch that --he clicked around the map, edging towards Newport -- they had access to every camera in the _country_. 

He resettled the map to the southwest, where Gwen was apparently directing them. It didn't take long for him to find the backspace hotkey, and he flicked quickly through the feeds until he found a black SUV like the ones in the tech specs on the drive Harkness had given him. It really was a very pretty car. 

He hit enter and watched, gleeful. The program followed the car automatically, leaping from feed to feed. There must be a tracker tied into the Torchwood network. Which meant that if he jumped ahead a bit...

"Captain Harkness, I have a visual on the Weevils," he said, tapping the button in his ear.

"What?" Harkness and Gwen asked in unison.

"On the CCTV. Cardiff Road where it runs into Redlands -- no, get back on Penarth," he said, as Jack turned in the absolute wrong direction. "Penarth!"

"All right, all right!"

"Past the roundabout. Right where Barry turns into Cardiff. Jesus god," Ianto added, as one of the Weevils seemed to fly up a twelve-foot stone wall. "They can climb like fuck, can't they. Hey -- no, get on Andrew road, they're going for the rail tracks."

He watched the SUV skew into the camera frame and shudder to a halt, just as the second Weevil came down over the wall. It wasn't a particularly elegant way to hunt, he decided -- the modus operandi seemed to be just to get close enough to the bastards to get them in the face with mace, or perhaps some kind of pepper spray. He had to give Gwen points for speed, though. She was better at ducking than Harkness, too. 

And Weevils just plain didn't seem to be all that bright. 

By the time they'd both been sprayed, Harkness was fitting a bag over the head of one and Gwen was trussing up the other. 

"Can I ask," he said, tapping the earpiece, "wouldn't it be easier just to shoot them?"

"Well, one, they're at least semi-sentient," Harkness said. He grunted as he picked up the hooded Weevil. "Two, it takes more than a bullet to get 'em down and keep 'em down. Three, it's a lot less fun. Four, nice work."

"Thank you," Ianto said, oddly pleased. He had Helped Catch A Weevil. Even if it was from several miles away. 

Considering everything, Harkness and Gwen would probably like something to eat when they got back. And coffee, maybe. 

He didn't actually realise what he was doing until he was standing at the coffee machine with two cups of strong, steaming coffee in front of him and a plate of biscuits at his elbow. He didn't even think he knew how to work a machine like that, but obviously muscle memory applied to drinks as well as firearms. Maybe he knew how to mix a martini now, too. 

"Oh my god, that smells good," Gwen called as she entered, hauling a Weevil after her. 

"Coffee," Ianto called back. "Thought you might like some. What do we do with them now?"

"Cells," Harkness said, following Gwen, a body slung easily over his shoulder. He didn't look particularly well-muscled, but then he wore a lot of layers and Ianto had to admit there was a certain unshakeable solidity about the man. He carried the Weevil pretty easily. "We lock 'em up, tag 'em, let them wear themselves out for a few days, and turn them free underground. Tagged Weevils found aboveground a second time generally put up more of a fight and we have to put them down."

"So, shooting, in the end," Ianto said, following them down into the cells with the coffee in his hands. Gwen slammed a door shut, dusted her hands, and took the drink gratefully.

"I love you so much right now," she said into the coffee.

"It's nice to be needed," Ianto informed her solemnly, and offered biscuits. 

"You see? This is why we had to have you back," Harkness said, taking the other cup. "Smart, ornamental, makes good coffee, doesn't mind shooting things."

"I could have a job anywhere in the world, with that on my resume," Ianto replied. Harkness winked at him over the rim of his cup. 

"But you wouldn't have me to appreciate your talents," he said. "O-kay. Gwen, go home, shag Rhys. Ianto, with me."

"Captain?" Ianto asked uncertainly, as the other two made for the door. Harkness stopped. Gwen did too, turning around on the stairs. 

"Dinner," Harkness said, with an almost bizarre gentleness. "I promised to tell you the secrets of existence, right?"

"Oh, do we have those on file too?" Ianto asked. 

"You'd be surprised. Come on."

***

**Then**

When Martha drove the wattage up on the neural probe, Gwen looked away. Jack had made her promise not to interfere if she stayed, but he didn't say she had to watch. Ianto tried to soldier on against the pain, sweating and panting, but in a minute he was going to scream. He could feel it building in his lungs, pushing past his windpipe -- 

And then there was just silence, numbness, distance. Like when Owen gave him the blissful little pills after an injury. He could feel his breathing even out, could feel his body sagging against the restraints, but he didn't feel any pain. 

Or any control. 

"Vital signs are normal," Martha said.

Ianto's eyes flicked open and he lifted his head without meaning to, felt his lips curve in a cruel grin. 

"Hiya, Jack," he said. Words in his mouth, words he didn't mean to say -- 

Jack crossed his arms. "Who am I speaking to?"

"Don't you remember?" Ianto asked, grin still fixed in place. It was as if he were watching someone pretending to be him. No danger, no feeling at all, just an impulse moving his muscles, using his voice. "No, you wouldn't, would you."

"I want your name."

"Call me Adam," Ianto said. There was a harsh rasp of laughter. Oh, that was him. "Or give me a serial number. You're good at that, aren't you? Box it up, give it a label. Ianto knows all the labels."

"What are you?"

"Something you killed. Thought you had, anyway. Thought you had me all figured out. Well, I got past you once, Captain Jack Harkness."

"You won't again, I promise you that," Jack said. 

"Ah, but I've got your boy, haven't I?"

"What are you?" Jack repeated. 

"Give us a kiss," Adam said. Ianto noticed Gwen was watching again now, a hand over her mouth. 

"We will hunt you down in his head if we have to," Jack said, leaning on the chair, hands on Ianto's strapped-down wrists. "I'll find you in his head and this time I promise you'll die in pain."

"Come catch me then. The longer you chase me, the deeper I go...someday you'll look in his eyes and all you'll see is me."

"You killed four women."

"Yeah," and a nostalgic look crossed his face. 

"Why?"

"Because I could, Jack. But you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Jack's eyes widened in shock. 

"I don't kill for pleasure."

"Well, not anymore," Adam replied. 

"Cut the power," Jack said, not looking at Martha. "Bring him out."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Martha replied, powering down the probe. Ianto heaved forward into his own body again and Jack caught him, a hand on his chest. After a few moments spent drawing in huge lungfuls of air as Jack untied him, he looked up.

"Please take me back to the cells," he begged, and Jack for once nodded and let Gwen and Martha half-carry him away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are things you and Jack don't talk about, but he'd probably really like it if you helped him on with his coat. It's something you used to do.

**Now**

Harkness took him to a pub he remembered from -- either two days ago or four years, depending. He ordered a pint of the beer Ianto favoured, a basket of fish and chips, and a glass of icewater. Ianto waited, impatient but unwilling to prompt him, until they were settled at a table in a corner.

"Barman seems to know you," Ianto observed, sipping his pint. Harkness smiled. 

"Yeah, we go back. He knows you, too."

"We eat here often?"

"Now and again."

"But we're not talking about now or again," Ianto said carefully. "We're talking about then and first."

Harkness nodded, turning his water around and around on the table. Ianto wondered if he didn't like the drink here. Or maybe he was in recovery or something. 

"Let me tell you about Torchwood," Harkness said.

"More about it, you mean?"

"About the institute in general. There were four Torchwoods -- Torchwood Four disappeared, years ago. Nobody knows where."

"Oh, that gives me great comfort."

"We're Torchwood Three. I broke with the other branches a few years ago, didn't like the way things were headed. Nobody cared too much. They had bigger plans, ideas that didn't require a couple of babysitters on a Rift in Wales."

Ianto nodded, waiting for Harkness to take a drink before continuing. 

"Torchwood Two is smaller, it's just one creepy guy in Glasgow. And...Torchwood One is -- was -- London."

"Was?"

"You can find it in the London papers, when you go home tonight. About two years ago it was invaded by aliens -- that's not in the papers, by the way -- and most of the people working there were killed. I don't have any casefiles for you from that time period because you weren't an active agent, you were in research. Plus, most of the archives were destroyed. But we know you were there. And your girlfriend worked there as well. She was in the tower that day too. Lisa. Lisa Hallett."

Ianto considered it -- a nice name, but it didn't stir any emotion in him. Harkness watched him for a moment, then continued.

"You told me once you only started drinking coffee because she liked it. Anyway. The aliens who invaded were machines -- well, people, humans in metal suits, with their emotions removed. Cybermen. They had only one reason for existing, and that was to make more Cybermen. Out of people like you, and Lisa."

Ianto frowned. "Is that where she died? I thought you said it was more recent."

"I'm getting to that. Eight-hundred-odd people worked for Torchwood. Twenty-eight got out, including you and her. You pulled her out of a conversion machine. They'd started to turn her into one of them."

He paused and looked up from Ianto's face with a fake smile. Ianto turned and saw the barman carrying the basket of fish.

"Thanks, Mike," Harkness said. He turned back to Ianto as the man walked away. "Vinegar?"

"Yeah," Ianto said, sprinkling it on as he pulled the basket towards him. Harkness snagged a chip from the other side, opened his mouth to talk, closed it, chewed, and swallowed. Ianto gave him an approving look. 

"Eat. It's for you," Harkness said, even as he helped himself to some fish. It felt -- odd, almost like a date, Harkness eating from his plate. Well, basket. "You brought her to Cardiff, sweet talked your way into Torchwood, and tucked her up in the basement."

"You let me do this?"

"I didn't know. You hid her. Kept her alive for months while you looked for a way to fix her, and meanwhile we made you make coffee and clean up after us. Eventually she got...loose. You can read the report if you want, though if I were you I wouldn't. Neither of us come off well. The upshot is, she killed two people. She nearly killed you. I..."

Ianto watched a complex set of emotions cross Harkness's face -- anger, shame, guilt, hesitance. 

"I told you that if you didn't kill her, I'd kill you both. I'm not proud of that. I think given another few minutes you would have killed her, but we couldn't take that chance in the end. We shot her."

Ianto took a long drink of his beer. 

"What do you...think about that?" Harkness asked carefully.

"I don't remember. I don't even know what this girl Lisa looked like. It sounds horrible, but it's just a story," he said, picking at the fish.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Doesn't sound like you had much choice."

"That wasn't what I meant -- look, the point is, the month-long gap you found, that's where you were suspended. I had to get you out for a while, give everyone else time to calm down, give you time to get your head back together. There's a second casefile you should see, your first field mission a few months after. You got pretty badly hurt. I wanted to give you a warning before you saw the hospital photos."

"Is that where I got..." Ianto pointed to his left shoulder.

"No. Weevil hunt. Only time one ever took a chunk out of you," Harkness said, sounding proud. 

"And the other gap?"

Harkness sat back. "I had to disappear for a while. I left you behind -- all of you -- "

"Me and Gwen, Tosh and Owen."

"I knew you'd notice that, if I gave you those files. The fact that my name wasn't on any of them. And in order to explain why I left, I have to explain a lot about me."

"Which...you're not going to do right now," Ianto surmised.

"No."

"And you're not going to tell me about why you erased my memory, are you."

"I think that's a disturbing story unto itself. Maybe more than one beer required," Harkness joked. "I will, but not tonight."

Ianto scowled. "Why?"

"I don't want to overwhelm you."

"I'm sorry, _pet dinosaur_ ," Ianto said, leaning forward. "Also, alien hellbeasts, mind-erasing drugs, guns I know how to fire without knowing how, homicidal girlfriends, and Gwen hugs far too much. If this is your idea of easing me into the job, you're vastly overrating your people skills."

"Look, just -- eat your food and cope with not having it all in a single day, okay?" Harkness said. "This is two years' worth of information, of hide-and-seek with the truth. It takes time to even figure out how to tell you all this."

Ianto poked a chip around in the paper liner of the basket, then shoved it into his mouth sullenly. He looked up to see Harkness smiling.

"What?"

"I'm trying not to compare you to the man I knew, that's all," Harkness said. 

When they were finished at the pub -- Harkness continuing to eat out of the basket of food, Ianto polishing off another pint -- they walked back to Ianto's flat, hunched a little against the cold that had replaced the drizzling rain, drowning in awkward silence. 

"Strange to be -- older than I think," Ianto said finally, watching the way Harkness's hair changed from black to brown to sandy-gold as they passed under a streetlamp. 

"You seem to be dealing," Harkness replied. "Unless you're going home at night and having hysterics."

"Not so much, no."

"Good." Back into shadow, gold to brown to black. "We never talked about Lisa. How you lived with that, taking care of her and us at the same time. I always wondered what you must have been thinking about when you went home. Whether you ate, whether you slept. You struggled for a while afterwards but you were healthier -- happier, I think. You gained weight after you came back to us, that made Owen happy. And you got noisier. You had opinions. But I wished..." 

Ianto kept pace, waiting for him to finish. 

"There was no good way it could have ended. If you'd told me I would have had to kill her anyway. But I wished you'd told me. I wished I'd known what was going on in your head. You never said if you were lonely or scared."

"You're my boss," Ianto replied. "You're not the appropriate person to tell."

"Torchwood isn't like other jobs. We only have each other."

"Gwen has Rhys."

"Rhys is the exception that proves the rule."

"You make it sound like a prison sentence. You did in the video, too." Ianto glanced at him. "Do you regret leaving the video?"

"No. I didn't want you to be frightened and alone."

"You have a pretty low opinion of my fear threshold."

"I care what happens to you. There's a difference." Harkness stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Do you get what I'm saying, Ianto?"

Ianto turned to face him. "If this scares me, you want me to tell you. Like Martha wants my blind faith and Gwen wants me to like the people in the photographs. And I haven't got anyone else, you know that -- my parents are dead, most of my mates have probably moved on and they were pretty useless to start with. Lisa must have fucked me up if I couldn't get another bloody date for sixteen months. From the outside this would look pretty well close to Stockholm Syndrome. But..." he shrugged. "It's a job. I've been on my own since I left school. Lonely is a default state. There's no point in fear. What do I actually have to lose?"

Harkness looked tragic, and suddenly more ordinary than Ianto had seen him since they'd met. No pity, exactly, just -- an overwhelming sense of humanity. 

"The really depressing thing is that you're right," he said finally. "Right now you don't have anything to lose."

"I didn't expect you to admit it."

"I've been there. Come on."

When they reached the door to Ianto's block of flats, Harkness stopped and made a grand gesture. "This is where I leave you."

"Thanks for dinner."

"It's on account." Harkness grinned, stepped forward, tilted his head -- and then stepped back, as if he'd been about to say or do something but stopped himself. "Almost forgot...your phone." He held out an expensive-looking mobile. "It's pre-programmed, all your old numbers."

"Thanks." Ianto pushed a few buttons hesitantly, found the contacts, scrolled through. "Everywhere in town that delivers, I see."

Harkness just smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Christ, more coffee," Ianto groaned, pushing the door open. "Goodnight, Captain Harkness."

"Goodnight, Ianto."

***

It didn't take him as long to get into the Tourist Centre the following day, but instead of going immediately to the Hub he stopped and explored. Harkness had said that this was his, so he probably spent time up here. God, please let him not have been the one to hang the bead-curtain. He was seriously beginning to question his older self's aesthetics. First the pink shirts, then the posh flat, now a bead curtain...

The computer looked old, but when he nudged it off screen-saver the operating system that came up was well beyond Windows. He left it for the moment and ducked through the curtain.

Another coffee machine, a sink with a handful of mugs on a rack next to it, and two file-cabinets labelled SPECIAL REFERENCE, padlocked shut. He'd have to talk to Gwen about where the keys might be. Cupboard full of cleaning supplies, another full of office supplies, including the ubiquitous plastic bags with the logo stamped all over them. A box of permanent-ink pens, presumably for labelling the bags.

There was also a single sheet of paper taped to the inside door, covered with his own handwriting. He pulled it down and studied it.

> Glad you came back. You won't be sorry. Don't be too much of an arsehole to Jack, he doesn't deserve it. 
> 
> No doubt Jack's given you "weapons training" and made remarks about how nice you look in a suit. What he and Gwen probably have not done is explain to you all your support duties, because it's doubtful that they notice each specific job. You'll find contact sheets for our various office and necessity suppliers in a file on the desktop of the TIC computer. Menus for the local restaurants are in the first drawer on the left. Jack's clothes go out for drycleaning on Thursday, they'll pick it up from the Tourist Centre. They have all the account information. Flirt with the delivery girl, she likes you.
> 
> The garage where the SUV is serviced is listed as well. You handle ordinary maintenance personally. Tosh's manuals for the mainframe and the more exotic weapons in the armoury are on the shared drive in the "DIY" folder. Learn how to assemble the Big Gun. Jack likes to use it gratuitously.
> 
> The appropriate forms for the archives are in the file cabinets here. They should be self-explanatory, but Jack or Gwen can help you out if you don't know what something means. Proper procedure for storing artefacts and archiving their records is in a file labelled READ THIS OR FACE MY WRATH.doc on the shared drive. Yes, you titled it. Owen didn't read it. Owen got decaf for a month. 
> 
> Sorry about the whole coffee thing. Promise you'll start to like it if you drink it long enough.
> 
> There are things you and Jack don't talk about, but he'd probably really like it if you helped him on with his coat. It's something you used to do.

It was signed _I.J._

This was looking like a much bigger job than feeding the dinosaur and making coffee. Ianto tucked the sheet of paper into his pocket and made his way downstairs. 

He was apparently first-in; the lights were down and neither Harkness nor Gwen were in evidence. He was about to poke around for a light-switch when they came on automatically -- motion sensors, perhaps, or a timer. He'd have to find out. 

He put his hands on his hips and looked around. Not much to do without anyone else here and with no access yet to files like READ THIS OR FACE MY WRATH.doc (he was quite looking forward to that one, actually). It was a bit of a debris-pile, this Hub, and he supposed he could just snoop about. There were mysterious bundles and boxes pretty nearly everywhere. Not to mention all the dusty bric-a-brac in Harkness's office. And the armoury, he suspected, could provide hours of explosive entertainment.

But even as he thought this he found himself standing in front of the coffee machine, pulling two cups of industrial-strength high-octane java. 

Fucking hell.

He turned with the cups in hand, intending to leave them on Harkness and Gwen's desks, but Harkness was suddenly there, standing on the steps across the fountain's pool. Ianto tried not to startle and spill the coffee. 

"Are you a morning person naturally?" Harkness asked, crossing the floor. He was wearing the same outfit Ianto had seen him in for the past two days -- dark trousers, braces, wide leather belt for his holster, blue shirt with the collar open over a white undershirt. Tidy, conservative, a little anachronistic. 

Ianto held out one of the mugs. 

"Mainly," he said. "Not so much on a Sunday morning. Why, wasn't I before?"

"I always thought it was something London must have trained into you." Harkness sipped. "I never asked. This is your mug, by the way," he said, indicating the matte black cup in his hand. "You got Gwen's right, though. Mine is the one with the blue stripes."

"I'll make a note," Ianto said dryly. 

"Ten strokes with a ruler next time you forget," Harkness grinned at him. "Not that you might not enjoy that. So!" he added, before Ianto could react. "Archives today. There's a backlog, and it's good training. The paperwork is -- "

" -- in the file cabinets in the Tourist Centre," Ianto said. "I just need the padlock keys."

"How did you know that?"

Ianto gave him a grin. Two could play the enigmatic mystery-man game. "Stood to reason. Know where the keys are?"

Harkness considered it, then jerked his head towards his office. "Probably on your keyring." 

Ianto followed him into the office, standing near the door as Harkness opened a desk drawer and sorted through it.

"One of my old girlfriends used to say that the number of keys you were given was directly proportionate to the power you had in the organisation," Harkness said, drawing out an enormous but well-labeled ring of keys. Some of them looked like they belonged in the nineteenth century. He held them out. "Then again, that only works up to a point."

"And then?" Ianto asked, because it was so obvious Harkness wanted him to.

"And then they just give you one key, but it opens everything," Harkness said. He held up his left arm. Ianto had noticed the strap, but he'd figured it for a prosthetic brace or perhaps a really bizarre fashion accessory. Now he saw that there was a digital readout embedded in it, under a thick plastic cover. 

"This opens pretty nearly any lock that exists," Harkness said. "And the ones it can't open it can definitely blow up."

"Where do I requisition one?" Ianto asked. 

"It's one of a kind. And no, you don't get to know any more about it than that. Even the other you didn't." Harkness dropped his arm and gestured to the cogwheel door. "Paperwork. It makes the world go round."

***

Harkness left an e-mail for Gwen explaining where they were, and they spent the next six hours in the cool, humidity-controlled archives. Harkness showed him how to work the handheld scanner, inputting every document to the mainframe before filing it along with digital photographs of every artefact they catalogued. He learned how to properly authorise the paperwork (signature by Harkness, TORCHWOOD OFFICIAL DOCUMENT stamp, countersignature by the archiving agent) and how to classify the various items spread out on the wide archive workbench. Some of them had notes attached as to their function. Others merely had a tag identifying the agent of record and the date it had been retrieved. 

Harkness examined each of these personally, providing either a concrete identification (often with a demonstration of functionality) or a legitimate educated guess. His knowledge of alien and anachronistic technology seemed unlimited. Ianto didn't ask, but he wanted to. _How do you know all this? Who are you? Where did you learn it?_

It was soothing, in a strange way, sorting out the useful from the broken, setting aside some for repairs or for examination "when we hire a new tech". A much smaller pile was placed into a plastic bin with the promise that Harkness would show him how to repair these personally as a learning exercise. 

Gwen came down to see them a handful of times, bearing messages or just checking in. The array of communication that Harkness received was staggering. In one morning he'd had telephone calls from the head of UNIT, two foreign ambassadors, the Prime Minister's office, and a senior CIA agent. Harkness brushed them off, except for the Prime Minister's office, and even then he just stepped out into the corridor and made the call on his headset, in full earshot of both of them. 

He also gestured to an imaginary Prime Minister in front of him while he talked, which was pretty fucking funny. 

"Does this happen a lot?" Ianto asked, leaning against the workbench and watching Harkness gesticulate. Gwen offered him her soda can, and he took a sip. 

"Not often. It's summit season; he might go to London for a bit, see the bigwigs," she replied. "Then again, he might blow it off to go to the cinema. Toss-up, with our Jack. How are you getting on in the archives? You used to come down here to sulk when you were annoyed."

"I like it all right," he said. "Be a bit spooky to be down here alone, though."

"Might get eaten by a file folder."

"Mauled to death by acid-free pens."

"Chewed up by a hole-punch?"

"Stapler sneak-attack."

Gwen laughed, and Harkness glanced down the hall at them, smiling. 

"He's happy you're back," she said softly. "So am I."

"I'm not the bloke I should be, though. I can tell sometimes when I say something wrong to him."

She rubbed his arm. To distract her, he passed her back the soda can. 

"You've still a lot to learn," she said. "But you're still really you, you know? Underneath it all. Besides, Jack made it very clear we're not supposed to compare you. We are going to care about you on your own merits."

Ianto cast about wildly for a change in subject. "So, Harkness said you took over for him when he left. Still hasn't told me why he went. You're in the chain of command, yeah?"

"Sort of. I mean I used to think I was his second. But...he told you things he wouldn't tell me. And I don't buy that it was to protect me. He trained me, too, just...different things. Then again, he's definitely put you outside the command structure. So I reckon together we're just about enough to keep up with him," she said, and then laughed again.

"What's funny?"

"Just thinking what Jack would say if he heard me say that. He's highly sexed, you know."

"I'd noticed," Ianto replied. "Lots of talk about bums and light bondage. Was he seeing Toshiko?"

The awkward silence next to him told him no, probably not.

"Not that I know of," Gwen said eventually. Harkness, down the corridor, was pointing to the air, speaking firmly. "I don't think he would have. But with Jack you never know -- Tosh used to say he'd shag anything if it was gorgeous enough."

"Is he bi, then?"

"I think the term he prefers is omni," she replied. "He claims he's had sex with aliens. He's threatened to prove it."

"Have you?"

"What, had sex with Jack?"

"Well, I was going to say had sex with an alien, but I'll take either answer."

"No to both. When I joined Torchwood I was already with Rhys. Everyone wants to have sex with Jack sooner or later, though. Probably because he wants to have sex with everyone. Even aliens."

"Have I?" Ianto asked. 

"What!"

"Reasonable question. We must meet aliens that are a bit more fit than the Weevils."

Gwen seemed to sigh with relief. "If you _have_ shagged an alien you never told me. And you would tell me, I think."

"Wasn't there anyone for me after...after Lisa?" he asked plaintively. The idea that he'd been sad and single for sixteen months was just pathetic. How hard could it be to get a date? You go out, you meet a girl, chat her up, buy the drinks, take her back to yours. He was fairly sure four years wasn't enough time for him to forget that process. 

Gwen was still silent, looking down.

"Let me guess. That's not for you to say," he said. 

"It's really not. But there was someone, yeah." She hesitated. "Ianto, would you like to come round for dinner sometime? We haven't got many people outside of Torchwood. Must be quiet at your flat right now."

"Thanks. I'd like that," he said, as Harkness finished the call with a rumbling "Fine!" and pulled his earpiece off.

"How's Whitehall?" Gwen asked.

"Obstinate," Harkness replied. "Okay. No more playtime in the archives for now. Food, email, early night if the Rift allows. Are you starting to get antsy? I'm getting antsy."

"About the Rift?" Gwen asked, as they climbed up to atrium level.

"It never goes quiet like this unless it's planning something really malicious," Harkness said. "We've gotta restaff."

"Soon as Ianto's trained," Gwen said. "And Martha's back on Monday, we can limp along for a bit."

"We need a tech. I can't do it all myself. Tosh pulled things even I can't figure out."

"Talking of," Ianto said hesitantly. They both looked at him. "Do I get access to the servers again? Only, I think there's things on there I should be looking at."

"I'll unlock your old codes soon," Harkness replied. "There are still a few surprises I don't want hitting you in the face."

"You could tell him about them," Gwen remarked pointedly.

"You could trust me to know when," Harkness answered, just as pointedly. 

"You could both stop talking about me like I'm not standing right here," Ianto said. 

There was a deep silence.

"Okay. You, in my office," Harkness pointed at him. "Gwen, you keeping up with the Rift?"

"Yeah," Gwen said. "There were two spikes this morning but nothing came through. I'm monitoring the police band."

"Yell if anything goes haywire," he said, and led Ianto into his office. Once there, he took out a file and passed it across. "This is what happened to you in Brecon Beacons," he said, without preamble.

Ianto opened it cautiously. The first few pages were text, a report by Gwen and then one by Harkness. Investigation of disappearances in the park, leading to an armed confrontation with a cult of cannibals in an outlying village. Gwen had been strafed with bird shot. Tosh had been choked so hard she had a bruised windpipe. Ianto had been knocked unconscious, twice, and beaten with a baseball bat. 

He turned over the third page and was confronted with a series of photographs obviously taken in hospital. The first was his face, dark eyes like pissholes in snow, solemn, unsmiling, bruises scattered over his skin, a shallow red cut skewing from jaw to adam's apple. In the second he was shirtless, larger bruises and abrasions testament to -- he flipped the sheet -- two cracked ribs and multiple contusions. In the third photograph his modesty was only preserved by the corner of a hospital sheet as he presented his right thigh to the camera. There was a deep scrape on it, and another handful of bruises. 

"Jesus," he said. "What did I say to piss them off?"

"I think it was when you smashed a guy's nose in with your head. That really got them up in arms," Harkness replied.

"Nice to know I can hold my own." He closed the folder and set it on the desk between them. "Do I get anything else right now?"

Harkness nodded. "One of the big ones."

"Oh yes?"

"I can't die."

Ianto blinked at him. "Pardon?"

"I can't die. Well, actually I can," Harkness said. "It just never sticks."

"What, like a vampire?"

"Not really. I had an accident, a long time ago, and I can't die. I'm two thousand one hundred and eighty years old, give or take. Looking good though, right?" Harkness said, giving him a brittle smile. "Granted, I spent most of that buried alive. I'll give you the file on that one sometime, really compelling reading. I've been drowned, poisoned, stabbed, trampled, impaled, shot, suffocated, strangled, bombed, burned, disembowelled, starved, thrown off a roof, had the life sucked out of me by a hellbeast from the Rift, died three times of the Spanish Flu, crashed an airplane twice, crashed five separate cars -- oh, and there's electrocution, irradiation, exsanguination, defenestration, you name it, I've done it. I'm practically a carnival ride of unpleasant ways to go."

He really didn't know what to say to that. Because if it was true, then what did you say? Sorry? And if Harkness was a total nut job, he didn't want to set him off.

"There's nothing to say," Harkness said, as if he were reading his mind. Fuck, what if he could? "You'll see it for yourself sooner or later. The funny thing," and he didn't sound like he thought it was at all funny, "is that the fact I can't die isn't even the point."

"I'm pretty sure it's a point all on its own," Ianto said carefully. 

"The point is that I thought a doctor I knew could fix me. I waited on the Rift for a hundred and thirty years for him to show up. When he did, I bolted. I left you and Gwen and the team behind and I disappeared for eight weeks. That's the gap. Eight weeks I left you alone. I didn't even say goodbye. I just went. And after all that," Harkness finished, "he said he couldn't fix me. He said he didn't even know how to try. So here I am. Still immortal. And it took me months to get you to trust me again."

Ianto chewed on the inside of his lip, thinking. Harkness leaned back and yelled through the wall.

"GWEN!"

She appeared in the doorway. He pointed at Ianto.

"Tell him I can't die."

"He really can't," she said. "Second time I met him, I saw him get up after being shot in the head."

Harkness gestured at Gwen as if to say, _See?_

"Right then," Ianto said. "Prove it."

"What?"

"Prove it. You've got a gun," Ianto said, gesturing to Harkness's hip. 

"I'm not going to shoot myself to satisfy your curiosity," Harkness retorted. "It's not exactly fun."

"You could poison yourself -- "

"Ianto!" Harkness snapped. 

"I'm only saying," Ianto said sullenly.

"That's horrible," Gwen said.

"Do you _want_ to see me die?" Harkness asked. 

Ianto studied his hands. "No."

"Okay then." Harkness said. "Here." He tossed another file on the desk. "Photographs." 

Ianto picked it up slowly and paged through it. Gwen leaned over his chair, one hand resting on his shoulder as she studied them too. 

They could be staged, of course, or Photoshopped, but they had the worn look of old photographs carelessly kept. Jack Harkness in faded sepia, wearing a surcoat, holding the reins of a large horse; standing in front of a Model T in monochrome; hand-tinted in three different military uniforms, only one of which was easily identifiable -- RAF, second world war. A second shot from that period -- Harkness seated at a table, grinning at a young woman next to him, a giant VE Day celebration banner in the background. 

A faded colour photo -- hands-folded, solemn, in an assembly being addressed by Prime Minister MacMillan. A polaroid, Harkness looking discontented as he sat with a group of men in military uniforms on the other side of a desk from Margaret Thatcher. Pixelated, early digital photography, standing in the Hub and holding a clunky, late-nineties laptop computer. Crisp and clear, in vivid high-res photoprint, standing in front of the Millennium Eye. 

A life in photographs. Hyper-extended. Unchanging.

"This affects everything we do," Harkness said quietly. "Don't ever step in front of a bullet for me. Don't ever try and save me." 

"Are you an alien?" Ianto asked.

"Depends on your definition of alien." Harkness leaned back. "I wasn't born on Earth -- "

"So the Rift brought you here?"

Harkness and Gwen both laughed. 

"It's not funny," Ianto said. "It's not like I know."

"He's right, Jack," Gwen said, sobering. "Sorry, Ianto."

"The Rift didn't bring me here, but I'm here now," Harkness said. "I'm staying here. This is my home."

Ianto considered him. 

"Ydych chi'n siarad Cymraeg?" he asked.

"Gwnel," Harkness replied, in a flawless accent. "Gofyniad rhyfedd."

Ianto shrugged. "Idle curiosity."

"It's a pretty language. Why did you ask in the formal tense?" Harkness said. 

"Why should I ask in the informal?"

"Point," Harkness said thoughtfully. He was opening his mouth to say something else when there was a sudden noise -- a series of bubbly electronic beeps. Ianto reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile. 

UHW - AE - J. 

At Harkness's nod, he answered.

"Ianto Jones."

"Ianto, it's Jeannie," said a woman's voice on the other end. 

"Ah...right," Ianto said slowly. "Can you hold on a moment?"

"Of course."

Ianto muted the phone. "Who's Jeannie?" he asked.

"Dr. Jeannie Benson. Contact at the hospital," Harkness answered. "Take down the information, tell her we'll take care of it."

Ianto thumbed the mute off. "Sorry, Jeannie. What's going on?" 

"I've got a bit of a problem here," she said. "We pulled in a rant-and-raver last night. He's been bleeding pretty badly off and on all morning. We ran him down to X-ray...I think maybe he's one for you lot."

"Right. Can you give me anything else?"

"Always."

Ianto grinned. He decided he liked Jeannie. "Well, I'll take you up on that sometime. What'd you turn up in the x-ray?"

"Just...a lot of metal. A lot of wire. And..." she hesitated. "It almost looks like it's moving."

"Sounds like one for us, yeah. We'll come have a look."

"Ta, Ianto."

"Be there soon."

He ended the call and met Harkness's expectant gaze. "She says they've got someone off his head, with moving metal in his body."

Gwen and Harkness exchange a significant look.

"Is this something we know about?" Ianto asked.

"It's something we're going to have to deal with. Gwen, digital medikit, Ianto, fingerprint scanner -- over there, on the shelf," Harkness added, when Ianto looked at him blankly. He was standing, strapping on his gun, digging a set of car keys out of the desk. "We'll go down to the hospital, check it out, maybe -- take a little boat ride this evening."

Ianto took the scanner off the shelf and then, rather than move out of Harkness's way so he could get his coat, lifted the coat off the hook and held it out for him.

Harkness stopped dead. Ianto turned his fingers slightly, presenting the sleeves. After a long, careful moment, Harkness eased his arms in and let Ianto lift it up so it settled on his shoulders. 

"I'll drive," he said, and walked away without looking back. Ianto clutched the fingerprint scanner tightly and followed.

***

Jeannie the Hospital Contact turned out to be an Attending in Emergency Medicine, a pretty brown-haired doctor who had a big smile for Ianto and a file folder for Harkness. 

"You're looking better than the last time I saw you," she said to Gwen, as Harkness ducked into the room where they were keeping the 'rant-and-raver'. "Ianto looking after you?"

"Always does," Gwen said, touching Ianto's arm affectionately.

"And you -- out of the business suit, didn't think I'd see the day," Jeannie continued. 

"Laundry day," Ianto said. Jeannie laughed. Through the window he could see Harkness standing over a pale, frightened-looking man. He was stroking his hand gently. Jeannie jumped as the pager on her hip vibrated.

"Got to run -- won't take long. If you don't see me, check in before you leave, okay?" she said, and ran off down the hall.

"Do we do this often?" Ianto asked. Gwen bit her lip.

"Not often," she said. "Well -- you and Jack more than me. This is my first."

"But you've been here nearly as long as me."

"This is one of those things that Jack put on you," she said, watching Harkness as well. He'd pulled up a chair and was sitting, still holding onto the man's hand, still speaking in low tones. Ianto rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"So many secrets," he said. 

"Well, look at it this way. You're getting them all at once instead of in bits and pieces over the course of years. Says a lot about what we've done for Jack, really," Gwen said. 

"What we've done?"

"He used to be a lot more secretive than he is now. Some of it's me, shouting at him. Lot of it's you too, though," Gwen said absently. She looked up at him. "You look tired."

"Six hours in the archives. And, you know. I'm missing four years of my life."

Gwen was opening her mouth to reply when Harkness leaned through the doorway and gestured them inside. Ianto watched, fascinated, as Gwen held the medikit -- a small silver ball -- over the man's body. Above it, a hologram of his internal organs appeared. They were twined round with thin metal wires, and yes -- the wires were moving. 

"Seen this before," Harkness said grimly. He glanced at Ianto. "You want to get those fingerprints for me sometime today?"

Ianto started, took the scanner out of his pocket, and carefully lifted the man's limp hand, pressing it to the plate on one side of the box. Apparently that was all that was required; it bleeped, and when he took the man's hand away a readout had appeared on a screen under the plate.

"Brandon Erikson," he read aloud. "Listed missing by the police, age twenty-nine when he disappeared."

"How long ago?" Harkness asked.

"Eight years," Ianto stammered, surprised. He glanced at Brandon, who didn't look anywhere close to thirty-seven. If anything, he looked younger than twenty-nine.

"Look here and here," Harkness said, pointing to two places in the hologram. "The wires are still moving. They'll settle -- last time it took about a day. We'll leave him here overnight, let them stabilize him, come back for him. Gwen, get a police guard on his door. Ianto, make sure he stays John Doe in the hospital records. I've gotta make a call."

Ianto watched Harkness walk out, then leaned over to Gwen. "What do I do?" he asked in a whisper. She grinned.

"Go find Jeannie, she'll set it up," she said, holding her phone to her ear. "Tell her it's an ongoing investigation."

"But I -- "

"Andy! It's Gwen," she said brightly, shooing him off. "I know, but you'd rather I call you than anybody else, right? That's what I thought. Listen, bit of trouble at the hospital, important witness..."

Ianto stood in the hall, considering his options. He didn't actually know where to find Jeannie, but she'd gone that way...

He caught up to her at an admit desk in A&E, scribbling something on a chart.

"Hi," he said, catching her eye.

"Two seconds, promise," she said, so he waited patiently until she was done. She looked up at him and smiled. "All yours now."

"I wish," he answered. She laughed.

"Captain Harkness is a bad influence. What do you need?"

"Bloke in there. Part of an ongoing investigation."

"Oh, is it the 'ongoing investigation' again," she drawled.

"Sorry. Listen, we'll be back to pick him up tomorrow but for now we need to keep him here. Can you make sure he stays anonymous?"

"Gonna cost you," she said, accepting another folder and signing something on the outside.

_Shit._ "Uh, yeah?"

"Mmhm." She looked up at him. "Gimme a smile."

Ianto, perplexed, smiled at her. 

"See? You're like a new man," she said. "Every time you come in here you're either bleeding or scowling. I know it's not pretty work, sweetie, but a girl could get a complex. Anything else you needed, bright eyes?"

"Not for now, thanks," he said, as Gwen approached. Jeannie gave him a grin and walked away. 

"Just offhand," he said to Gwen, after a moment, "what do you reckon my odds are of getting her to have dinner with me?"

"I think you shouldn't ask," Gwen replied.

"Why not?" he glanced at her. "I know the job's not predictable, but she's a doctor, she ought to understand."

"I just don't think she's your type."

"She's nice, I think she fancies me. I'm not allowed to make dates?"

"You don't know anything about her."

"That's the point of a date." 

"You -- just -- " she looked frustrated. 

"What do you care?" he asked. "You've got Rhys, who've I got? My most complicated relationship right now is with _coffee_."

Gwen was still looking reluctant.

"Oh my god," he said. "We're sleeping together, aren't we?" 

"What? Ianto -- "

"That's why you keep touching me! Gwen, you're _married!_ "

"We're not sleeping together!" Gwen hissed. 

"Then why do you care?"

"Kids," Harkness's deep voice cut down the hallway. "If you're gonna make out, at least let me watch."

"Jack," Gwen said, stepping back from Ianto. "It's all taken care of."

"Good. They're set up on our end. Tomorrow afternoon we'll get him out to the quay. I'll take him across with Ianto."

"Thanks," Gwen said, looking oddly touched. Ianto frowned.

"Across to where?"

"The island. I'll explain tomorrow." He was already walking away. Ianto and Gwen both jogged to catch up, following a little behind him. Like good soldiers, Ianto thought. 

And what kind of place was Torchwood for a twenty-one-year-old to become a soldier in? He couldn't think of himself as twenty-five. Besides, he didn't have the four years that had made him that old. Very old, to judge by Jeannie's treatment of him.

Younger men than he became soldiers all the time. He'd narrowly missed it, in fact -- just before he left Cardiff two of his mates had got caught in something significantly larger than a juvenile misdemeanour, and their parents had packed them off into it 'to straighten them out'. He'd been eager to escape to London, get out of all that and get a real job, get a real life. 

And here he was. Carrying a gun, answering to a captain. 

Another headache was just starting to tug at him as they arrived back at the Hub. He went to make coffee, because it was the only damn thing that really stopped the headaches, but as he was carrying the tray back to Harkness's office he paused below the walkway. Harkness and Gwen were talking.

"...got to tell him, Jack."

"I will, okay?"

"When?"

"I don't want to freak him out."

"He's spent the last three days in Torchwood, for what might as well be the first time ever to him. I don't think he has any freak-out left. He thought he and I were having an affair."

"Wow. Fantasy fodder for a month."

"Jack!" Gwen sounded really angry, not just the mock-angry she'd used on Harkness before. "He's confused and lonely. He should know. Soon."

"And he will, I told you. I'll tell him. I'll take him out tomorrow night, we'll go hunting, we'll bond, I'll explain it."

"After Flat Holm?" Gwen sounded sceptical. Ianto frowned. Flat Holm? Wasn't that an island in the Bristol channel?

Ah. The island. 

"You have no idea how he reacted to Flat Holm. Not everyone thinks like you," Harkness retorted, sounding every bit as angry as Gwen. "The way he saw Flat Holm isn't going to change. Trust me."

"I hope you know what you're doing, Jack."

Ianto clattered the tray against the railing as he climbed the half-flight of steps. Both of them glanced up. 

"Coffee?" he asked, with a smile he didn't feel. They took the coffee -- in their proper mugs this time -- and he left them to continue whatever argument they were having as he cleaned the desks and began shutting down the computers. Not exactly the James Bond adventure he was expecting, but then he'd done worse for less pay. 

He was locking up the Tourist Centre, Gwen long since gone home to her Rhys, when Harkness lounged into the back room and leaned against one of the file cabinets.

"You've been quiet since the hospital," he said, hands shoved in his pockets, braces hanging on his hips. "You okay?"

"Sure, fine," Ianto replied, wondering whether he should lock the supply cabinets and if so which of the billions of keys he had did the job. "Turning things over in my head, that's all."

"What sort of things?"

Ianto glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. "Isn't that more Gwen's line than yours?"

"Part of the reason I hired her was that she keeps us honest," Harkness said. "Reminds us we're human. She's been doing it long enough that I can fake it pretty well myself now."

Ianto grinned. "Is it a job requirement that I do it too?"

"What?"

"Fake it."

Harkness chuckled. "In our long association, Ianto, I've never known you to fake much of anything."

"I don't think that can be entirely true." Nope, not going to lock the cupboards. Nobody was daft enough to steal office supplies from a dusty Tourist Centre. He'd figure out which keys locked them, though, and take them off the key-ring. "After all, by your own account I lied to you for months about..." he trailed off. 

"Lisa," Harkness said softly.

"Yes, her."

"I don't know, even then you were a pretty open book in a twisty kind of way," Harkness said, pushing away from the file cabinet. "Either you wore your emotions on your sleeve or you didn't have any at all. No faking it. Just hiding it a little."

"I suppose that's as well."

"Besides, you haven't usually had to fake being human. Everything you went through in London, all the things you saw...it kept it all pretty close to the surface. Your humanity might've been a little more complicated than Gwen's is, but it was still there."

"And now?" Ianto asked. "What do you think of me now?"

"I think you're a little innocent, but that's nothing to be unhappy about. I think you might be happier than you were, in fact. I wouldn't give up that man to get you, but I like you anyway."

"On my own merits," Ianto said dryly. 

"And then, sometimes, Gwen talks too much." Harkness sighed. "Tomorrow we'll take care of Brandon and start getting you back in the field. What do you think of Weevil hunting?"

"I still think shooting them would be a lot faster."

"But so much less fun. Wear running shoes," Harkness added. He swept him head-to-toe -- t-shirt, jeans, trainers -- and gave him a half-smile. "See you tomorrow."

***

"Tomorrow" turned out to be a lot sooner than expected. Ianto's mobile rang in the dim dark predawn hours, long after he'd gone home and to bed. He rolled over and smashed it against his ear. 

"Yes?" he mumbled.

"Rift activity. Up and at 'em," Harkness said.

"Where? And oh god why?"

Harkness chuckled. "Because it hates us. And in Victoria Park, somewhere off Llandaff Road. Welcome to your first three am callout, Ianto Jones."

"I quit."

"We don't take resignations between midnight and four am. Job to do."

"Off Llandaff Road?" Ianto asked, crawling reluctantly out of bed. 

"I'll pick you up. I don't think we're going to have a whole lot of trouble finding it."

"What do you m..." Ianto trailed off as he pulled the curtains back from his window. There was a brilliant beam of white light shooting up out of the Cardiff landscape. "Yeah, got it."

"I thought you would. Bring your sunglasses. See you in fifteen," Harkness said, and hung up.

Who the hell owned sunglasses in Cardiff?

Ianto made coffee in his kitchen without even thinking about it, pouring it into a thermal flask in-between pulling on a shirt and grabbing his keys. With the flask tucked under one arm, he checked the clip on his sidearm, strapped it on, pulled on the short black denim coat, and stepped outside just as the blue-strobing lights of the Torchwood SUV came into view. Harkness leaned over and popped the door.

"Jump in," he said. "Gwen's meeting us there."

"What is it?" Ianto asked.

"No clue," Harkness replied gleefully. "This is the fun part."

"Oh, a riot," Ianto muttered.

A few minutes later, standing in front of a line of police tape, he studied the high, narrow beam of light cautiously.

"Just a thought," he said, "but do you reckon it's a signal beacon?"

"Could be," Harkness replied, in the same mock-speculative tone of voice. "Question is," he added, ducking under the tape, "What's it signalling? And why?"

"Here!" Gwen called, gesturing them over. She looked entirely too chipper for three-thirty in the morning. She was wearing sunglasses. Figured. "Over here! Come have a look!"

Up close, the beam of light was almost blinding. It came from a ditch in the ground, and to judge from the dirt flung up around it the ditch was new. Inside the ditch was a large egg-shaped object about half Ianto's height. 

"Anything interesting?" Harkness asked casually.

"Looks like it didn't crash down," Gwen replied. "No reports of lights in the sky until it switched on. Owner of the house says he heard an explosion and found it like this."

"Rift monitor?"

"Huge spike. Probably dropped it underground and it unburied itself," Gwen answered. 

"Ianto, what do we tell the locals?" Harkness said, as if this were some kind of hellish practical exam.

"Meteor crash?" Ianto suggested.

"Little too Roswell-y."

"So, ditto on the falling airplane parts and the weather balloon," Ianto replied. He offered Gwen the coffee. 

"Oh, brilliant," she said. "Thanks. What about terrorist activity?"

"Mm, wearing a little thin," Harkness remarked.

"Students," Ianto said. 

"Students?" Gwen asked.

"Sure. Buried a searchlight for a bit of a prank." Ianto shrugged. "People generally buy that kind of thing, don't they?"

"Okay..." Harkness passed Ianto a video camera, a somewhat hilariously determined look on his face. "Gwen, get with the police. Ianto, tape it. I'm goin' in."

Ianto held the camera steady as Harkness slid down the side of the ditch with enviable grace. He inched towards it, one hand outstretched, face turned away from the light. When he finally touched the surface of the giant glowing egg he hesitated, then pressed more firmly against it.

"It's cold," he said. He frowned. "Ianto, getting this?"

"Yes, Captain." He hesitated. "Are you sure it's cold?"

"Yep."

"How cold?"

"A little lower than body-temperature. More cool than cold really." Harkness frowned. "Why?"

"Heat and light are both radiation. That much light ought to put out heat," Ianto replied. "If it were really cold it might be some kind of endothermic reaction."

Harkness was openly staring at him.

"What? I did an A-level in physics. Also, the energy for that kind of light -- "

"AHA," Harkness shouted. "Turn off the camera. I need four jacks."

"Shouldn't think the world could handle more than one," Ianto heard himself say. Harkness glanced at him, that same half-smile on his face.

"Car jacks. The SUV has two, get two more from the police."

Ianto tucked the camera into his coat pocket and ran across the field. He found the jacks in the SUV, hauled them out to the police tape, and buttonholed a short, pugnacious-looking officer.

"Almost got it fixed now," he said, watching Gwen speaking with a tall, older-looking man nearby, a sergeant. He was taking notes. "Need to borrow some equipment."

"What, the great Torchwood hasn't got everything it desires?" she asked.

"Well, I'd be happy to leave it on all night and you could freeze your nonexistent arse off guarding it, or you could get me some bloody car jacks," Ianto retorted.

Her jaw dropped.

"Don't speak English?" he asked sharply. "Two more car jacks. If you can't get them for me I'll find someone else who can and let your sergeant know how helpful you were."

She hurried off, glancing over her shoulder at him in shock. 

"Well, looks like someone grew a spine," said a voice nearby. Ianto pivoted, ready to keep on if necessary, but the gingery cop who'd spoken held up his hands in mock-fear. 

"Don't hit me," he said, grinning. "You probably don't remember me. You lot never do."

Oh, thank Christ. Finally someone he wasn't expected to know.

"I'm Andy Davidson. Gwen's old partner. Ianto, right?"

"Course. Sorry, Davidson," Ianto said. "Bit hectic tonight."

"Right old do, this one is," Davidson observed. "What d'you reckon's happened?"

"Students, at a guess. Plant a searchlight, spook the locals. Rumours of aliens and monsters and all."

Davidson gave him a dry look. "Students. Yeah. Guess Gwen'd say the same thing, wouldn't she?"

He frowned. Before he could reply the other officer was back, puffing a little, carrying two large car-jacks. 

"Sir," she said, offering them to him.

Ianto had never in his life been called "sir" by a cop. It gave him a sort of warm, satisfied feeling.

"Thanks," he said. "Have 'em back to you soon enough."

He hauled all four of them to the ditch, slipping and sliding down the steep dirt wall on his arse when Harkness told him to come down. The captain was standing next to the thing, looking pleased with himself, and Ianto noticed the light was quite a bit dimmer.

"Geothermal energy," he said. "Literally. It's taking power from the dirt. Hoist it up...lights out Cardiff."

Easier said than done. They grunted and strained, rocking the egg back and forth to get the jacks under it and then slowly ratcheting it out of the dirt, each of them working two jacks at once. As soon as the last clod of moist earth fell away, it winked out completely. Ianto was left blinded in the dark, waiting for his pupils to dilate, while a sarcastic round of applause broke out from the cops in the distance. 

"Let's get a tarp around it and haul it home," Harkness said. Ianto groped his way forward, tripped on a root in the ground, and tumbled into a solid, only slightly yielding mass.

"Gotcha," Harkness said in his ear, hands flexing on his chest and right arm for emphasis as he caught him. He was warm and damp from exertion, but his hands were steady and he smelled amazing. Ianto felt light-headed. 

"I was about to say, we'll make Gwen actually _get_ the tarp, considering she's not blind," Harkness observed. 

"Good thinking," Ianto replied. Harkness held on for a minute longer, then gave him a gentle shove to get him fully upright. He coughed in the darkness. 

"GWEN!"

"HEARD YOU!" Gwen yelled back, and there was a papery rustle. A torch-beam shone down into the ditch and a folded blue tarp landed at Ianto's feet. 

Once extinguished, the egg was still a bright point, a sort of pale iridescent blue that caught what little light there was and glittered. It didn't take long to drape the tarp over it and flip it off the jacks into the stiff, slick plastic, or to fold the plastic around the wide base and tape it up. Getting the egg out of the ditch took considerably more effort, with Ianto pushing on it from one end while Harkness and Gwen stood on the edge and hauled on the loose corners. Once it was up, he handed up the jacks and then let them pull him out as well. Gwen helped dust dirt off his knees and Harkness "helpfully" dusted it off his bum for him. 

They dragged it over the uneven ground carefully, under the police tape and up to the SUV. The police themselves were already putting away their equipment, packing up their cars, and prepping to go off shift. Home to nice warm beds -- hot showers...

He collapsed against the rear fender of the SUV once they'd finally hoisted it in, content to just _not be moving_ for a bit. Harkness was speaking with the same tall, commanding-looking cop Gwen had spoken to earlier, cupping the man's elbow with his hand and grinning a charmer's grin. Ianto shut his eyes and thudded his head against the car as he realised he still had to go back and get the jacks they'd left in the field. 

"Looking for these?"

He looked up and found Davidson standing there, holding the SUV's jacks.

"Oh, god, thank you," he said, accepting them and storing them in the kit near the spare wheel. 

"Always happy to help," Davidson replied. "Gwen gave me a shot of your coffee. Wouldn't consider catering for the police, would you?" 

Ianto laughed exhaustedly. "I don't think you could afford me."

"Still and all, bring some of that round anytime, I'll make sure nobody mouths off to you. Happy hunting, Torchwood," Davidson slapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him flat, and wandered off. 

"He's cute. Useless, but cute," Harkness remarked, gently elbowing Ianto out of the way and closing the rear hatch. 

"Not entirely useless."

"He wants to join up," Harkness said. "I sent Gwen home. Think you can help me wrestle this into the Hub?"

"Sure, why not; early start to the day," Ianto sighed. "If he wants in, why don't we let him? You said we need people, and I get the feeling he knows more than he'd let on to his mates."

"He's not Torchwood material."

"And I am?" Ianto laughed.

"Yeah," Harkness said. "You are. Andy's a nice guy, he helps us out, but he hasn't shown brains or guts enough for this job."

"Oh," Ianto said. 

He hadn't thought that Torchwood was a matter of being chosen. More a matter of tripping and falling into it. 

"I have high standards," Harkness added, pulling the SUV back onto the mostly-empty Cardiff streets. It wasn't a long drive to the Hub, but Ianto felt himself drift off once or twice before they arrived and Harkness sent him inside for a cart for the egg. 

"We'll get it down into a containment unit," Harkness grunted, helping him heave it down out of the car again. "Thick walls, thermal sensors, some scans later today. Even if it does light up again it's not going to get through four feet of solid cement. Once we get it in I'll take you home."

"There's a sofa," Ianto pointed out. "I can kip there. Only be a few hours till we'd be expected in anyway."

"It's your back pain," Harkness shrugged, as Ianto maneuvered the cart through the doorway and into the Hub, down the ramp to containment. He left Harkness to wrestle the tarp off the egg on his own and collapsed onto the couch, huddling down in his coat as he drifted back into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ydych chi'n siarad Cymraeg?" (formal address) "Do you speak Welsh?"
> 
> "Gwnel. Gofyniad rhyfedd." "I do. Strange question."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I miss it so fucking much," Jack said brokenly. "And I have for so long -- "

Ianto overslept without an alarm and, in the end, what woke him was a dinosaur trying to eat him.

Well, all right, not trying to eat him per se, but Myfanwy was standing over him and prodding his belly with her beak, making soft cooing noises that didn't fool him for one second.

"G'wan, you giant chicken," he said, smacking her beak aside gently. She crowed and smacked back, which _hurt_. "No," he ordered. To his shock, she hopped back a few feet. Then she grabbed a sadly deflated, much-chewed basketball in her mouth and flung it at his head. 

God, what had his life come to?

He carried the ball out into the main Hub and tossed it up as hard as he could. Myfanwy took off, screaming joyfully, and whacked it with a huge-taloned foot, rebounding it off the fountain in a shower of water before snatching it in her jaws and carrying it back to her nest. Apparently even dinosaurs liked to play a bit of fetch once in a while. For a limited definition of "fetch" that did not actually include fetching the ball back to him. 

He could hear strange beeps and clanks coming from the cells where they'd stashed the egg, but his hair was sticking out every which way and he still smelled like dirt and grease. His back, true to Harkness's prediction, twinged when he walked. This was hardly the way to start the working day. Hot water would help, and he'd seen a long row of shower-heads off the locker room near the morgue. 

By the time he'd washed and dressed and given up on finding a razor to shave with, Gwen and Harkness were at the tech desk, studying readouts.

"There he is," Gwen said, beaming. "You scrunch your nose when you sleep."

"You almost let a dinosaur eat me," he replied. 

"Aww, where's our chipper morning Ianto?" Harkness asked. 

"He died when you woke him at dawn to dig an alien artefact out of the Cardiff suburbs," Ianto replied. "Coffee?"

"Yes, please."

He had to admit that he felt better after a few gulps of liquid caffeine. It still tasted terrible, but it got the job done. 

"Change in plans," Harkness said, blowing on his coffee to cool it. "The egg's cycling energy. I need to take some readings and neither of you are qualified to use that technology. It'll be a couple of hours. Gwen'll take you out to the island with Brandon. She can explain it to you on the way. And you'll need these," he added, reaching into his pocket and tossing a small, white carton through the air. Ianto caught it and frowned.

"I don't smoke," he said, holding up the pack of cigarettes.

"Neither do I. You'll know what to do with them when the time comes," Harkness replied. Gwen, Ianto noticed, was looking distinctly unhappy. "Still up for hunting tonight?"

"How could I say no?" he asked, and went to fetch his coat.

Half an hour found him and Gwen leaning on the railings at the quay, waiting for the hospital van and listening to the shouts of sailors as they readied a small ferryboat nearby. Gwen did not look any happier. She looked, in fact, like she was dreading whatever was coming next. 

Ianto had done a little research on Flat Holm island, just in case it proved relevant. All he'd really been able to dig up was that it had a lighthouse, and had once been used as a sanatorium for cholera patients. It had gun emplacements that dated back as far as the 19th century, and was privately owned. Apparently, by Torchwood.

"So," he said, nudging Gwen with an elbow. "What's this about an island, then? Harkness said you'd explain."

"There's the hospital van," Gwen replied, pointing to a dark blue car that was pulling into the quay. "Tell you about it on the boat."

Ianto hovered and watched as Gwen helped the driver get Brandon, who looked more lucid but not any healthier, into a wheelchair. She kept up a steady stream of chatter about how much he'd enjoy watching the boats come and go until the driver was gone, and then wheeled him smartly onto the ferry. 

Apparently Harkness had already told Brandon what was going on. He sat placidly, hands folded in his lap, and didn't talk at all. Ianto retreated to the bow as they cast off, and waited for Gwen to join him. When she did, she sat down on an empty crate and hunched forward, studying the deck intently.

"Now?" Ianto prompted gently. 

"Now," she agreed, sighing. "When Jack took over Torchwood -- no..." she stopped herself. "It starts earlier than that. The Rift doesn't just leave things. Sometimes it takes things, and people. It transports them to other places, maybe other times. Some of them live, some probably don't. We don't know much about it. Jack liked to keep it that way for a while. But sometimes after people go missing...it brings them back."

"Like Brandon."

"Yep."

She was silent for a while. Ianto listened to the scream of gulls and the roar of the engine until she was ready to continue. 

"It dumps them back here, damaged or sick or mad, and Jack...takes care of them. Torchwood takes care of them. Used to be that meant shooting them or locking them in the cells. That's what Jack says, anyway. When he took over Torchwood he decided he wanted something more for them."

"When was that?"

"Dunno. Early two thousand, I think. Tosh looked it up once."

"Something more being...a boat ride? An island?"

"Flat Holm island. He uses it as a sort of refuge for them."

"Like a hospital."

"More like a hospice. You don't come back from Flat Holm. The people we take there...they die there. There are nurses to care for them, Jack feeds them some story about failed medical experiments. I doubt they buy it but they're good people, they don't ask too many questions. Not like me," she added bitterly.

"When did you find out about it? You said..." Ianto gestured at the man in the wheelchair, who still hadn't moved. "You said he was your first."

"Oh yes. Well, sort of. First time I've taken anyone to Flat Holm myself." 

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I guess I'll see it for myself," he said.

"No, you should know this. I...started looking into all the disappearances. I didn't know about the island. You did, but I don't know when Jack told you. You must have known for a while anyway. Probably so you could help order supplies, or take people there, or something. You tipped me off that the island existed, didn't tell me what was there. I ran over like an idiot and got the wrong idea, thought Jack was...torturing people or something. It was a bloody great cock-up for me from start to end, really."

"I'm sorry, Gwen."

"Not your fault. Even Jack said later that you did the right thing. I don't go over much, I don't like it; when someone had to be taken there or they had to run supplies over it was your job or Jack's."

"Did the others know?"

"Jack told them, after I found out. I think maybe Owen went once, to have a look at the medical side."

Ianto lifted his head into the wind. From here he could already see the island approaching in the distance. Not a long ride. 

"I'd say you could stay on the boat, but I don't know what to do once we get there," he said.

"It won't take long. Jack said I should let you have a look around if you liked, but that I didn't have to stay."

"Kind of him."

"I'll never really understand that," Gwen blurted. "He _is_ kind, he cares about people, but he's so hard sometimes too. I couldn't do it, lock them up on an island, even when I know it's right. I couldn't, Ianto."

"Good thing he's the captain then, I suppose," Ianto said absently. "How many are there?"

"Seventeen or eighteen. Most of them don't live all that long, he says. You can tell when one of them dies, he comes back..." she shrugged and straightened. "Hollow-looking. Sits in his office for the afternoon and broods."

"Bet he's good at that."

"World-class."

There was a woman waiting for them at the tiny, rickety dock on the island. She looked happy to see Ianto, gave him a hug and kissed his cheek, shook hands with Gwen (who called her Helen) and greeted Brandon with a warm smile and a reassuring monologue about getting him "settled in" and finding him a nice hot meal. Really all that they had to do was trail along behind her as she pushed his wheelchair over the hard-packed dirt path, to a ramp sunk in the ground and a heavy steel roll-door. 

"We've been looking forward to your visit," she said to Ianto, as they entered a long narrow hallway. "They always ask after the Captain but a fair few ask after you as well."

"That's...nice," Ianto said. 

His first thought was that it smelled like Providence Park, not as antiseptic as a hospital but with strong overtones of bleach and laundry soap. Underneath, a sort of burnt-metal odour, something he knew intellectually he couldn't really smell but which stood in for the fear and sickness that were intangible and always there. The grim wire cages around the televisions, the round edges of all the furniture, the barred-over glass -- a dingy sort of place, despite the scrupulous cleanliness, trying very hard to be cheerful and failing very badly.

Ah. So that was what Harkness had meant. His reactions wouldn't change, because his sense of the madhouse had been honed to a point long before he came to Torchwood. 

He hadn't been anywhere like this since he was thirteen, but he remembered. It made him ache, but it wasn't a bad ache -- there was a certain amount of pride involved. Dad's doing, he supposed. Never be ashamed to be kind to the ill, Dad had told him. Every bloody Sunday after church. 

Brandon was shown to a private room, bare and plain, with no mirrors (glass could be broken and used as a weapon) and cages around the light-bulbs. Ianto could see, in other rooms, that posters had been hung, personal effects laid out. In one of them, a young woman with long blonde hair wept and rocked. In the hall, a scrawny man beamed at him and raised a hand in greeting. Ianto, remembering his manners, smiled back and gave him a noncommittal nod. 

"I'm going back up," Gwen said, as soon as Brandon was settled in the room. "When you're done, come find me, yeah?"

"Sure."

"Take your time," she added, and gave his arm a squeeze before she left.

"She acts as if you've never been here," Helen said, amused. "As if you're the one who's high strung about it, not her."

"I'm used to it," Ianto replied. 

"Come have some tea, then. Prakhar will want to see you."

Prakhar turned out to be a perfectly healthy-looking man in his thirties, with a shock of thick dark hair and a smile that was slightly manic, slightly too wide to be real. He bounded up to Ianto as they walked into the small dining room. 

"Ianto Jones, Jones Ianto Jones," Prakhar said. "Hi!"

"Hallo, Prakhar," Ianto said, guessing. The man bobbed his head. "How's life on the island?"

"Brilliant, Jones. Oh yes. Peonies coming up lovely. Dragonflies as big as your fist."

Ianto glanced at Helen, who shrugged and looked sadly at him. 

"The acid snow'll take care of them though," Prakhar continued. "Eat away the island until it's the end of the world."

"Well, winter's a good ways off," Ianto answered. Prakhar sidled up close to him.

"Did you bring them?" he asked in a very loud whisper. 

"Bring what?" Ianto whispered back. 

"You know." Prakhar put two fingers to his lips and inhaled.

Oh, good god. 

"Ah," he fumbled. "Yeah. I did. Compliments of Captain Harkness," he added, palming the pack of cigarettes into Prakhar's questing hand. 

"You're a gentleman, Ianto Jones. I'll bring you a dragonfly. Good eating on them, you know."

He hurried away, presumably to find a quiet place to smoke -- god knew if they let the man have a lighter -- and Ianto turned back to Helen. 

"He knows he's not supposed to send the boy cigarettes," she said. "But...he knows we'll always forgive him."

"Got to have some pleasures in life," Ianto replied. "Erm...is there anyone else I ought to specially see?"

Helen bit her lip. "Nicole. We don't think she'll be with us much longer, and you know how much she likes your vowels."

He smiled as if he understood, and after a cup of tea he found himself sitting in a bright yellow room with an elderly woman in it, reading to her from -- of all things -- an advanced medical journal. Occasionally she'd grunt or make a comment about the text, which he didn't even pretend to understand. 

"And now you have to go," she said finally. "Jack will be getting impatient for you."

"I'll be back soon," he said. 

"I'll be dead, I'm afraid," she replied.

Ianto set the book on the bed and left the room. 

Gwen was sitting on a rock outcrop near the door, watching the waves lick at the beach below. He settled next to her and, on impulse, put his arm around her shoulders. Creepy, considering how little he'd wanted contact before now, but she seemed to need it. She snaked an arm around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. 

"Jack said you wouldn't even be upset," she said. 

"I think that's an overstatement," he replied.

"But you're not. Not like I was. Don't you find it horrible?"

He considered it. "Objectively, yes. But they can't help it."

"I want to care about them. It's just so hard to be near them. They're so full of pain and there's nothing to be done. Not even for their families."

He made a wordless noise that could have been agreement or objection, because he didn't know what to tell her. 

"I reckon I know why he told me and not you," he said finally. "He must have read up on me."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"My mum was in Providence Park," he said. 

"What?"

"Severely schizophrenic. Profoundly unstable," he said. 

"Oh, my god, Ianto -- "

"She had her first psychotic break when I was three. By the time I was five she was a long-term resident. So I know a bit about places like this."

"You'd think it would make you even more upset."

"No, not so much. They could look after her properly there, and Dad didn't have to worry. We visited her on Sundays. She was pretty catatonic. Maybe sedated heavily. I never asked. She died when I was thirteen." He glanced down at her. "Did I never tell you?"

"I doubt you told anyone. But you're right, Jack probably knew. Jack mostly does."

"Wonder why I never told you, though. Seems the kind of thing you'd get out of me sooner or later."

Gwen laughed a little. "Shows what you know."

"Oh yeah?"

"Well, I think...I dunno, but it makes sense a bit. After...I mean...you hadn't anyone or much of anything when you came to Cardiff. Except Lisa, really. And then we took her away from you too. You must have wanted something that was yours, just yours. Jack was as surprised as I was when you said you had perfect recall, so you couldn't have told him either. You wanted a secret or two. I can understand that." She pulled away gently. "There's the boat. We should go."

"Don't tell Captain Harkness," he said suddenly, as she stood. She turned, looking perplexed.

"But if he already knows..."

"Don't tell him I told you. It's in the past, it doesn't matter now. I don't want it...discussed. You talk about me enough already," he said. "Please, Gwen."

"All right," she said. "If you want it that way." And then, lightly, "Lunch when we get back?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

He stood at the rear of the boat the whole way back, watching Flat Holm fade into the distance until it was just a low, thick line on the horizon. He wondered how many more secrets Harkness was keeping from him. And how many he was keeping from Harkness.

***

**Then**

"I only know them from stories," Jack said, pacing back and forth in front of the cell. It was an unusual place to have a team meeting, but Ianto wouldn't be moved. Gwen and Martha sat on the floor, Gwen leaning up against the other side of the glass from where Ianto sat, Martha across from her. "They say they used to walk like gods. They get inside your head. Mess with your memories, make you believe what they want you to believe."

"God," Gwen said. 

"They were just fairy tales for children."

"So were fairies," Gwen pointed out.

"This won't end that way."

"But if it's in Ianto..."

"I can feel him," Ianto said, startling her. She looked through the glass at him. "Now that I know. I can feel him. He digs around. He knows Lisa. He knows about London. He's learning my memories."

"We lost two days once," Gwen said. 

"Maybe it wasn't your choice," Martha suggested.

"Maybe I did it to you," Ianto replied. 

"You didn't do anything. It did. If we can chase it down..." Jack rubbed his jaw, fell silent.

"If we kill what it feeds on," Martha said. Jack gave her a sharp look. "Memory. Scorched earth. If we track it back as far as it goes, starve it out, it'll at least mean Ianto's free."

***

**Now**

To his surprise, once they were back on the mainland, Gwen called Jack to let him know they'd returned and then took Ianto back to her flat for lunch.

"Rhys made soup yesterday," she said, taking a large plastic tub out of the fridge and dumping the contents into a pot on the stove. "He always makes loads. I thought, soup and bread."

"Sounds fine," Ianto replied, seating himself at the little bar between the kitchen and living room and trying to look at everything without actually _looking_ like he was looking at everything. "What sort of soup?"

"Spicy vegetable," she replied, glancing at him. He made a face. "You'll like it, promise. Rhys is a good cook. Better than me by a long shot."

She turned on the heat and went about getting down bowls and plates. "You know, I don't think you've ever been to my flat before."

"Can't have had much reason."

"You'd be surprised. Still, Rhys didn't find out what I really did until a few months ago -- about a year now actually. I had a huge row with Jack over that. He wanted me to Retcon him after he'd found out."

"Retcon, that's the little pills, the ones that make you forget."

Gwen looked stricken. "Oh -- sorry -- "

"It's fine," Ianto assured her. "Just making sure I know all the terminology."

"Partners aren't supposed to know what we do, but Rhys can keep his mouth shut. He has done, anyway. He likes to hear about the aliens. And once in a while it's helpful, when we need to haul something large. He can lend out a lorry without too many questions asked."

"Do he and I get on?" Ianto asked. 

"I think so. You don't see much of each other, but he asks after you. Especially now, after Owen and Tosh."

"That's good of him." Ianto mulled this over as Gwen stirred the soup. "Harkness was right. Seems like you're our connection to the outside world. Rhys, the Davidson bloke..." he gestured at the pot. "Soup."

"Part of why he hired me," she said. "The woman before me -- "

"Suzie. I read the reports. She became obsessive. Started killing people to give her an opportunity to use the glove."

"Not so much the kind of person you want as your second in command," Gwen said. "And there I was, with this burning belief that we could help people, that we ought to help people, totally naive. But...well, human, and pretty bright. And not unattractive, which is a major consideration for Jack."

"You don't mind what he says, all the time, about sex?"

"Why, do you?"

"No, but I'm not a woman, am I?"

"What's that got to do with it?" she laughed. "He's Jack, Ianto. Sex isn't demeaning or shameful for him. He's not trying to belittle or objectify anyone. He might check out your arse but that doesn't mean he isn't seeing you as a whole person. It's a...culture clash, I suppose. He lives by different rules than the people he lives among."

"He must be very lonely," Ianto murmured. Gwen dipped out a bowl of soup and passed it across the counter to him, smiling.

"Not so lonely as you might think," she said.

***

As Harkness had promised, they spent the afternoon repairing alien technology. Ianto sometimes found himself wanting to laugh about this for no reason he could fathom -- it was just so absurd. Him, with a screwdriver, deep in the bowels of an alien device, trying to pry up a small metal flange so that he could rewire what Harkness called 'the thing that makes it beep'. Not that this wasn't his forte -- he'd done a course in electrics in school, and his mates always made him be the one to set up stereos and videogames and things. He wasn't terribly interested in videogames in their own right, but it was good to have useful skills. 

Harkness, working on a different machine across the desk, occasionally walked him through the next step or explained to him the function of each part. Again, he wanted to ask how he knew it all, though at least he was a little closer to the answer now. Harkness hadn't been born on Earth and couldn't die. All that time in Torchwood, regardless of any other experience, ought to make a person quite the expert. 

And it was fun, really, working like this, like solving puzzles or playing games. Gwen was nearby, monitoring the Rift and trying to make sense of the readings Harkness had taken while they were out on Flat Holm. Harkness had asked Ianto, on their return, what Ianto thought they should call the thing. Ianto had jokingly replied "The Bacon Beacon" which had elicited a roar of pleased laughter. The name that stuck, however, was The Egg. 

He found he wanted to please Harkness. It was hard not to want to. Gwen obviously did. Myfanwy was the only one who seemed impervious to his charms and he was sure, if Harkness really put in the effort, he could charm her too.

"So, what I'm getting from this," Gwen said, coming over to the workbench and holding a stack of printouts, "Is that the Egg wasn't even using all the energy it was pulling up. And how was it getting energy from dirt, exactly?"

"I don't know," Harkness said, leaning back. "It's not something I've seen before, and that's saying a lot."

Ianto triumphantly pulled a wire out, smiled at it, and began stripping the strange, gooey coating off one end. 

"But it was definitely carrying a message on that beam," Gwen said. "How high up do you think the light got?"

"Satellites..." Harkness leaned over languidly and tapped a few keys on the computer. "It made it into space. Royal Observatory seems to think it was an instrument glitch on their end. Coded pulses, though. Huh. Communication with light frequency. Maybe whoever invented it communicates using light instead of sound."

"What's it doing now?" Ianto asked, wiping the goo on a rag and twisting the alien wire around a piece of good old-fashioned Earth-made copper wire. 

"It's putting out faint pulses of heat energy -- not cold anymore," Harkness said. "I think it's some kind of standby signal."

"Like a light on a laptop when you put it in sleep mode," Gwen said.

"Or a low-power version of the beam," Ianto said.

"Either-or. We should be ready for someone to come looking for it," Harkness replied. "Step up the frequency of satellite reports. I want as much warning as possible. A race that could invent this kind of power-conversion technology is going to be pretty advanced."

Ianto, plugging the copper wire into a socket in the Beeping Thing, shouted and jerked back in surprise as it sparked. It sizzled for a minute, then started to beep. 

"Good job," Harkness said, and reached over to pull the wire out using a pair of rubber grips. "You get a gold star, Ianto Jones."

"I'll stick it on my wall next to my kitten posters," Ianto drawled. 

"Funny. Come on. Gwen, get the satellites set up and then go home. Ianto and I have a date with a Weevil."

"Hunt well," Gwen gave Harkness a significant look as she bent back to her work. Ianto stood and lifted Harkness's coat from the hook, helping him on with it before he donned his own jacket. Harkness raided a box near the door.

"Weevil spray," he tossed an aerosol can to Ianto. "Got your sidearm?"

Ianto pulled his coat back to show the holster on his belt. Harkness leered a little.

"I'm also happy to see you, sir," Ianto remarked, and Harkness looked shocked for a moment before he laughed.

"I'm obvious but fun," he said. "G'night Gwen!"

"Night Jack, night Ianto," Gwen called. 

***

Ianto felt adrenaline seeping into his bloodstream as they drove through the dark Cardiff streets, just like it had the half-dozen times he'd stolen from shops, the dozen-odd times he'd got up to mischief late at night. Less than a month ago, for him; four years ago, for everyone else. 

His hand clenched tight on the can of spray, his mind only half-absorbing what Harkness was saying. Spray it in the face, get it calmed down, get a hood over it, plastic ties at wrists and ankles. Spray doesn't always work, or it takes more than usual, but once it's down it'll be down for a few hours. Time enough to do the job right, so don't slack on binding it up. Watch the claws. Definitely watch the teeth. Don't let one get on top of you. 

"Captain," Ianto said, over the hum of Harkness's voice. 

"What?"

"I see one."

A hunched figure shambling along -- were they made for gravity as heavy as Earth's? -- with its arms dragging low, a ragged jumpsuit concealing the shape of its body. He could almost hear the thing snort and snuffle, like the one Harkness kept in the cells for whatever reason. It was already pretty far from anywhere a car could go, moving deeper into a wooded park with every passing second. Harkness pulled the SUV around and up onto the pavement, only stopping when the trees made it impossible to drive further. He was out of the car before Ianto even had his seatbelt unbuckled.

Chasing it down wasn't hard. It couldn't run very fast. The question was what to do with it once they'd caught up to it, both of them circling like dogs, pulling back whenever it lunged out. 

"I'm going to draw it off," Harkness said. "Get behind it. Reach an arm around, empty the can into its face. You only get one shot like that so make it count."

"Yessir," Ianto answered breathlessly. He inched forward as Harkness began taunting the Weevil, stepping up and then back, pulling all its attention. 

Which of course was when everything went to hell.

It turned and lashed out at Ianto, who was just barely out of claws-range. He stumbled backwards and fell, then remembered the admonishment not to get trapped underneath one and rolled as fast as he could, losing the spray in the chaos of sharp roots and clumps of weeds. It lunged again and he rolled in the other direction as something stung its way across his chest. When he scrambled to his feet he felt blood welling up and into his shirt, sticking it down. 

Harkness was -- he was _fistfighting_ the thing.

Ianto cast a look around and then, unable to find the spray, dove back in, kicking the Weevil's legs out from under it and then giving it a swift boot to the head. It roared, but Harkness was getting a foot on its chest and holding it down as he emptied the spray can up its nose. After a second, it subsided into little twitches and moans.

Ianto inhaled to let out a triumphant shout -- bagged it! -- and felt a hand clamp over his mouth, stopping him. His vision filled with Harkness, one foot still on the Weevil's chest, face inches from his.

"These are a secret, remember?" he hissed. His other hand was on the back of Ianto's neck, holding him in place. They were pressed together, hip and shoulder, and he wanted to warn the captain that it was likely he was getting Ianto's blood on his coat. "You want to tell the whole damn town we're here?"

Ianto shook his head. Harkness eased back, looking down. 

"You're hurt," he said. 

"S'not much, hardly got me," Ianto replied. "That was brilliant though, wasn't it?" 

"Par for the course," Harkness said, brushing aside his enthusiasm. He bent to fit a hood over the unconscious Weevil. Ianto knelt and drew a handful of plastic ties out of his pocket, looping one around its wrist and linking another through it before pulling it tight around the Weevil's other arm. He did it without thinking, then wondered how he'd known how to do that.

"Come on, Harkness, that was pretty great. You went up against that thing like a boxer." Ianto moved to its legs, tied those as well. 

"Don't call me Harkness," he said, lifting the body and slinging it over his shoulder. "Come get patched up."

"This shirt'll have to go," Ianto observed, pulling shredded bits of cotton away from his skin. He could see the scratches weren't deep, but there were more than he'd thought. It must have gone for him with both claws. Bit of a blur, really, in the heat of the moment, but a brilliant rush when it was done. Much better than shoplifting.

Harkness dumped the Weevil in the boot of the SUV and took out a first-aid kit before he closed it. Ianto shrugged out of his jacket and pulled the shirt off over his head, leaning against the car. He held out his hand for the kit, but Harkness opened a bottle of disinfectant and poured it onto a pad, blotting it along the lines of the scratches. Ianto hissed. 

"You're right, they're not bad," Harkness said. "Won't scar. They hurt?"

"They do now you're pouring that stuff in them."

"Never know what kind of alien bugs you might get. Weevils aren't known for cleaning under their fingernails."

Ianto laughed. He felt almost dizzy, and definitely high. Endorphines, probably. 

Harkness finished cleaning him up and then painted something clear and cold over the wounds, sealing them, before covering each scratch with a strip of medical tape. Ianto considered him, head bent to his task, eyes narrowed in concentration.

"So, what do I call you, then?" he asked.

"What?" Harkness said.

"You said don't call you Harkness. What do I call you? Jack? Seems a bit informal. I'm not Gwen."

Harkness straightened and set the kit down on the fender. There was a certain sensation of Ianto's personal space having been invaded, and not for the first time since he'd come to Torchwood. But, on the other hand...also a dim sense that if Harkness had asked, yeah, he would have invited him to step right up. 

A warm hand was pressed to his chest, gently. Harkness inhaled, exhaled again. Controlling himself. 

And suddenly it clicked into place -- the kid-glove treatment, the refusal to give him all the information at once, the way he touched him, the way when they made contact it held just a trifle too long. The reason he'd woken up in his strange flat with Harkness's coat spread over him. Gwen's reluctance to tell him who he'd been with in the sixteen months since his girlfriend's death, and her insistence that Harkness tell him. The way he instinctively trusted the man without the slightest reason and with several good reasons not to. 

"You and I," Ianto said slowly. "We aren't just boss and employee."

"We are now," Harkness said. 

"But not always."

"We were more, once."

"What, were we shagging? That's not something I normally do with -- " Ianto began, trying to blow it off, but Harkness pressed lightly and he gasped -- half pain, half surprise. 

"You want to know what you call me?" Harkness said, and there was an odd anger in his face. "When we're at work, you call me Sir, unless you forget yourself and call me Jack. Which is what I want you to call me, because you say it like it's some kind of goddamned blessing, something a man your age shouldn't even know how to do. That's what you say when you slip up. That's what you call me when we're alone, in the dark. That's what you call me when you're in my _bed_. You call me Jack."

Ianto gaped at him, even as their bodies pressed together, even as he felt a reaction rise in him -- lust, yes, unexpected and unusual, but also a deeply possessive urge. Like he wanted to claim any little part of Jack Harkness he could. 

"And I miss it so fucking much," Jack said brokenly. "And I have for so long -- " 

Ianto arched his back and leaned up and kissed him. 

It was like breaking down a dam; Jack surged forward, pinning him, god, not giving him enough space to breathe, let alone move. He could feel hands hitching up his hips, warm palms on his skin, fingers working their way under the waistband of his jeans. Jack wouldn't release his mouth, just kept pushing, brilliant, dangerous, all his tightly-wound control evaporating. Ianto hooked one leg around Jack's thigh, enjoying being on eye-level with him as they kissed -- 

"Going to have me right against the car in a public park?" he asked, laughing. Jack nipped sharp bites along his throat.

"Would if you'd let me," Jack said, hips thrusting against him. He slid one hand down and got it under Ianto's arse, lifting slightly for better leverage. Ianto moaned. 

"Who's stopping you?" he asked, though he was hazy on the mechanics of all this. Anyway if Jack kept licking between his clavicles they could work out the more complicated positions some other time.

"You. Always did," Jack grunted. 

"Not stopping you now," Ianto caught his breath in his throat. "God, you're strange."

"You have no idea," Jack's breathing was ragged.

"Show me," Ianto said, and Jack lifted his head and gave him an incandescent, electric-blue stare, his grin wide and filthy. One of his hands slipped down between them, searching and stroking. Ianto tipped his head back, stared up at the hazy stars over Cardiff. Jack's hand was doing amazing things, even through the stiff denim, and once he got his zip down the noises he was making were distilled sex. He could feel Jack's erection as well, slid his thigh over to press against it, and heard Jack cry out, muffled against his skin. 

The stars overhead blurred, dizzyingly, as he concentrated on Jack's body against his, Jack's hands and mouth, the frantic thrust of his hips. Ianto felt himself hit the edge, felt that final touch that pushed him over, and whited out for a minute. 

He dropped back into his body to discover that he was sticky and breathless and felt like he'd found something he wasn't even aware he'd been missing. Jack was staring at him, breathing heavy as well. 

"I take it that's new," Ianto said, trying for casual after the best shag of his young life. And failing miserably.

"Weevil-hunting," Jack managed. "Gets things flowing."

"You're a bit sort of kinky," Ianto observed.

"Hey, this wasn't a solo performance." 

"I dunno, I didn't do much more than try and hang on."

"That could be fixed," Jack said, but there was a hesitance in his tone.

Ianto nodded. "Got no problem with that."

That earned him a smile which lit up Jack's face. 

"Car," he said, stepping back and regrouping. He offered Ianto a handkerchief, of all things. Ianto cleaned himself up, did up his zip and found his coat, circled to climb into the car. 

"One good thing to come out of this," Jack was saying, as he started the engine. "I got two first-times with you."

"I hope last time wasn't up against a car. I mean, variety and all," Ianto said, "but I'd like to think at least once was in a bed or something."

"Quite the possibility," Jack murmured.

"We can dump the Weevil at the Hub -- go back to mine?" Ianto asked. "Or yours, if you want, I'm not fussed."

Jack pulled back onto the street. "I forgot to tell you that."

"What?"

"I live at the Hub."

"What, really?" Ianto asked. Jack nodded as he steered towards the bay. "You don't think maybe the term 'workaholic' might come to mind when people think of you, do you?"

Jack just laughed. "I try not to care too much what people think of me, most of the time."

At the Hub, Ianto slipped away to clean himself up a bit more while Jack was still dealing with the Weevil. He stole a clean scrub shirt out of the stock in the medical bay, pulled it over his head, and wondered if he should go see what he could do to help. 

As it turned out, he didn't have to. When he emerged from the medical bay Jack was standing by the door in clean clothes, waiting patiently for him. 

Some advantages to living at the Hub, then, Ianto supposed. He'd have to start keeping spare clothes there as well.

They were silent as Jack pulled them back out into the night streets and turned in the direction of his flat. After about five minutes of trying not to think about what he was doing, Ianto caved.

"I've never slept with a man before," he said. Jack glanced at him briefly. "I mean, all right, obviously..." he gestured at Jack. "But I don't remember it, is the point."

"Mm. Given what you've remembered without having to relearn it so far, I wouldn't be so quick to say that," Jack replied. "Muscle memory. Beautiful thing."

"Jesus, how much sex did we _have?_ "

Jack grinned. "A lot. Does that bother you?"

Ianto thought about it. He had only vague sketch outlines of how gay men had sex to start with, and he recalled thinking it couldn't be pleasant, but -- well, obviously he'd enjoyed it. Or he'd been so in Jack's thrall he hadn't cared. And he'd had a good time just now, in the park...

"No," he decided. "Not yet anyway."

"Does anything bother you?" Jack asked. There was a slight edge to his voice. 

Ianto shrugged. 

When they reached the building, he let them in and led the way up the stairs -- oh god, he was bringing someone home for sex, he was bringing a man home for sex, he was bringing Captain Jack Harkness home for sex. He forestalled these thoughts neatly by pivoting once he was through the door and pushing Jack up against it, kissing him. 

"Nice," Jack breathed against his mouth, going with it, one arm around his waist to hold him there. "See? You're remembering already."

Ianto concentrated on trying to shut him up, but apparently Jack Harkness was a talker. He pushed away from the door and walked Ianto backwards, still talking, hands sliding his scrub shirt up and off, reaching for his belt buckle.

"I planned this to be a little less intense," he said, and god, Ianto was hard again already. Jack was too, from the feel of it. This could be a very interesting night.

"Mm?" Ianto encouraged, lowering his head to nose his way along Jack's jaw, get the scent of him.

"I thought I'd buy you a drink, sit with you..." Jack hooked his thumbs in Ianto's waistband again, shoving his jeans down. Ianto staggered a little and laughed. "Explain all this to you calmly."

"That sounds like you," Ianto taunted, untangling himself, getting his shoes and socks off in the process. He reached for Jack's shirt, fumbling with the buttons and the braces. "You wear too many clothes."

"Usually I'm saying that to you," Jack replied, shrugging out of the braces at least. "I was going to say we didn't have to keep on -- "

"Oh, let's," Ianto moaned, finally getting his hands on warm bare skin, pushing Jack's shirt over his head. 

" -- and we could go slow if you wanted -- "

"Not interested."

Harkness, belt undone, trousers half-off, stopped them in the bedroom doorway and cupped Ianto's chin, lifting it up so their eyes were level again. 

"You said something about a bed," he said gently.

Ianto stepped aside, pulling him into the room. 

"Best laid plans," Jack said, stripping off the rest of his clothing. He got his arm around Ianto's waist again and pulled him over, half-falling with him onto the bed. Ianto crawled up him and kissed him, trying to ignore the familiar-unfamiliar sensations -- a flat muscled chest, thick thighs, another man's cock pressing against the hollow of his hip. He bucked a little, listened to a deep moan, smiled. 

He did feel like he half-remembered this, which made it easier right up until Jack got a good steady grip and flipped him onto his back, holding him there deftly. And then he kissed his throat and his chest and the edge of a bandage, kissed the sensitive flat of his ribcage. It took Ianto far too long, not until he was biting gently on his stomach, to realise -- 

He wasn't sure what he'd assumed, in the spare few minutes he might have had to think about this, but it was not that charming, powerful, dominating Captain Harkness would be sucking _his_ cock. 

Certainly Jack didn't mess about with pretence, just wet his lips and took him, tongue working against his skin, tighthotwet oh Christ, Jack's hair soft under his hand, Jack's own hands holding him down. Ianto writhed and moaned, tried to keep still when one of Jack's hands left his skin --

There was a strange pressure, a caressing touch and then a _push_ and Ianto yelped and jerked away, scrambling backwards. 

Jack, lips damp and swollen, was looking at him from under his brows, cautious.

"Okay?" he asked slowly. Ianto blinked. 

"That was, ah -- "

"My finger in your ass, yeah," Jack said. "I was there."

"Sorry, just, fingers in unexpected places." Ianto hesitated. "Do I...like that?"

"Well, you haven't complained before. Not the kind of complaining where it means you actually want me to stop, anyway." Jack moved forward slowly, cupped a hand on Ianto's cheek. "I forgot, okay? I'm sorry. Nothing you don't want, I swear -- I just -- I've missed you."

Ianto kissed him (taste of salt on his lips, taste of his own skin) and trailed fingers helplessly down his body, uncertain. 

"Do you trust me, Ianto?" Jack asked softly. 

"God knows why," Ianto managed. "Yes, I do, it just...startled me."

"I'm sorry."

"You can't forget, Jack, because I can't remember." Ianto kissed him again. "Okay -- okay -- do we -- how do I...just...please," he said, not even sure what he was asking. 

"What do you want?"

"That, I do, it's fine...slowly," Ianto breathed.

Jack, pleasingly, chuckled. "Oh, now he wants to go slow."

"Hey! Surprise fingers!" Ianto retorted. "Your bed manners..."

Jack laughed even more at this and leaned over to kiss his throat, even as one arm stretched out to pull the drawer on the bedside table. Ianto hadn't looked around much in the bedroom. If he'd found the lubricant in the nightstand a lot of things might have come clearer a lot sooner. He watched Jack's bicep flex and relax, fascinated. Jack shut the drawer again. 

Their bodies were barely touching, just Jack's forehead pressed to his shoulder and then, raising, Jack's mouth on his. A slick hand trailing up his thigh, touch and pressure again -- 

"Breathe, it's easy," Jack said into his mouth, and Ianto was trying to formulate a reply when the pressure increased. This was -- he was so exposed, Jack could do anything to him and he'd really only known him three days. But in some dark place in his head he didn't even care.

Jack Harkness, a familiar name, like a word on the tip of his tongue he couldn't quite search out. 

And then he realised Jack was smiling at him in approval, with affection.

"Better," he said, in a low voice that made Ianto gasp even as the sense of pressure and fullness increased. Oh god, two fingers, and they were moving, pushing gently inside him. 

Part of him wanted it, was embarrassed he'd run from this even momentarily. Slowly he drew one leg up, maneuvering their bodies, making it easier, and earned himself another pleased look from Jack. 

_And a curl of his fingers oh god what was that how did it sweet Jesus --_

Jack looked utterly smug. "And that's why I get no complaints," he said, and did it again. Ianto tried to remember how to breathe. 

"What -- are you -- " he panted. 

"Anatomy lessons later," Jack replied, kissing him quiet. He took his hand away, moved his body forward. Gripped the headboard with one hand, over Ianto's shoulder, and kissed him again. Apparently kissing was the way he distracted people and Ianto had to admit it worked until an impossible thickness pushed against him, pushed inside him, and Ianto choked down on a second surprised yelp.

"Got you," Jack said urgently, his other hand holding Ianto's hip hard enough to bruise. "It's okay, got you."

Ianto tipped his head back. "Still just holding on," he managed. Jack shifted his weight. Pleasure like fire, with a tang of pain attached, raced straight up his spine. 

"You're so...sometimes..." Jack whispered incoherently, interrupted every few words by a hitch of breath or a moan of pleasure as he rocked into him. "Everything. You take everything. Even things I shouldn't, I try not to, you take -- please, Ianto, please."

Ianto could hardly figure out how to move, but he managed to get his arms around Jack's shoulders, pull him closer. Jack had stilled, was waiting for something, and even so neither of them were going to take their time about this. Jack drifted one hand over his stomach, stroked his cock almost as an afterthought, started moving again. 

Small, erratic twitches evened out, became solid thrusts, faster and faster until they broke down again and it hurt, there was no denying that, but it was background noise to the sheer pleasure of having Jack. Of seeing the captain come unwound and knowing he'd caused that. Knowing it was for him, that his possessive urge hadn't been misplaced.

"You," Ianto said, as Jack latched teeth hard in his shoulder and came. "You're for me, Jack."

***

It was definitely messy.

Then again, in one way or another, all sex was. And Jack might not have the best bed manners, but he was a gentleman: he let Ianto rest, found a washcloth and wetted it with warm water, smoothed it over his own skin and Ianto's before Ianto pulled him into a kiss again. 

"So?" Jack said, grinning down at him. "I was right, wasn't I."

"Bastard," Ianto breathed. "I won't be able to move tomorrow."

"It's Saturday. You won't have to."

"I'm fairly certain that's not how Torchwood works."

"I'll give you the day off."

"Nice to know I get all the usual perks of shagging the boss." Ianto yawned. Jack lowered himself down, resting a hand on Ianto's stomach, his head on Ianto's chest, careful of the strips of tape protecting the shallow cuts from earlier. Ianto curled a hand in his hair, rubbed the shell of his ear. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yhhg," Jack answered. 

"Before -- in the park, you said you'd missed me. You made it sound like I'd been gone for months. It can't have been more than a few days," Ianto observed. "Or should I expect this sort of thing to be an hourly occurrence?"

"That's beyond even me," Jack replied, voice muffled against his skin. 

"So what did you mean, then?"

Jack's fingers tightened possessively over his skin. "It's complicated."

"Oh, I'm shocked. Something to do with Torchwood is _complicated?_ Notify the newspapers."

"It's not the story I want to tell tonight," Jack replied. Ianto felt a twinge of shame. 

"What story do you want to tell?" he asked. Jack was silent. "Listen, I know this makes me the girl in the relationship, but I think there are some extenuating circumstances here. What the hell are we to each other?"

Jack lifted his head. "What?"

"Well, are we shagging, or dating, or what? Gwen didn't want me asking someone else out on a date, but you don't seem the type to demand exclusivity. Or offer it."

Jack studied his face. "We never put a name to it."

"That's helpful."

"I don't like labels."

"I'd noticed. Do we see other people? Is this a Weevil-hunting thing? Help me out, Jack, I don't know what's going to scare you off or make you angry. I don't need a name, just a few guidelines."

Jack lowered his head again, pressing his face into Ianto's throat. 

"Let me tell you more about the Beacons," he said softly. "It might help."

"All right."

"Five weeks after you came back to us -- nothing changed, not really. You were still this...thing, there to provide food and clean up and look nice. Gwen and Tosh at least tried. Owen didn't. You'd think he would, but...Owen was an asshole a lot of the time."

"I got that sense, yes."

"I thought if we could take you out to the field, the team would see you were a person and remember to treat you like one a little more often. And then we got there and those...they were monsters. Things masquerading as human beings. They told you that you _weren't_ a person. They said you were just meat. That wasn't what I wanted for you."

Ianto let his head tip back against the headboard, closing his eyes. 

"Gwen wouldn't let me kill them," Jack added. "I wanted to. They'd hurt my people. They didn't deserve mercy. I still think they don't."

"Where are they now?"

"Oh, prison," and a hateful joy filled Jack's voice. "Prison for a very long time. Down in a dark hole, each of them alone. And they don't get meat. Torchwood had a word with the penitentiary. Vegetarian only. It's not summary execution, but it's enough." Jack shifted, mouth brushing Ianto's throat, and for a minute he wondered if Jack would bite. "You read the report. I took you all to A&E in Cardiff. Tosh and Gwen got out first, Owen said he'd take them home. I waited for you. You wanted to go back to the Hub, said something about unloading the SUV."

"I think you should know," Ianto said slowly, "that my work ethic may have suffered when you rebooted me. I'm fairly sure that sounds completely mad."

"You were on a lot of painkillers. You didn't actually notice when I took you home instead." Jack sat up, looked him in the eye. "There was a point in my life when I wouldn't have cared that someone was high and had two cracked ribs if they said they wanted to fuck, but that hasn't been true in a long time. You kissed me, said you wanted to be sure you were alive. I said no."

_"I don't know why I fucking go on, Jack. I really don't. In Torchwood. I don't know why I'm still here."_

_"Because you work, here. Because you want to protect just a little bit more than you want to hide. You must have thought about this. Can't you draw any conclusions?"_

"Decent of you."

"Yeah, well. I stayed on your couch." 

"I don't think I'd begrudge you that."

_"It's pay. And -- it's penance. And then there's you."_

_"Me?"_

_"You."_

"And I didn't say no the next morning," Jack murmured. 

"Oh."

"You needed someone to take care of you. Sometimes I needed that too. That's what we were, just -- we looked after each other. That was all it was. No strings."

"But not anymore?"

"No."

"Then for how long?"

"Until I left. Well, until I came back. That wasn't enough anymore, not for me, and you wouldn't have had me on those terms anyway. You grew up so much -- you had to step up, because Gwen had to step up, because I wasn't there. Then I was there, and neither of us knew our places anymore. I made new places for us."

"And what were those?"

"You didn't look at anyone else. Even while I was gone. You told me that much. You could if you wanted, but I don't think you wanted to. I flirt, that's who I am, but I know how to say no. You were it, Ianto. Gwen -- she and I have something. I don't get it. I need it, but I don't understand it. And I try to be sure that whatever it is -- it doesn't come between us. At work, you do the work, you toe the line, you follow orders, you get hurt if that's what it takes. Work is bigger than us. Outside of Torchwood...I'd kill anyone who hurt you. In a heartbeat."

"Ah," Ianto said. "Well, that clears it up at least."

"That scares you."

"Yeah," Ianto agreed. "Terrifies me actually."

"Why?"

"Well, my last girlfriend, from where I stand, picked a sports car over me."

"What?"

"Dumped me for a bloke with an Audi. No great loss," Ianto shrugged. "She's the last one I remember. I'm not exactly used to the kill-for-you stage of a relationship."

Jack nodded. After a minute, he smiled.

"If it's any help, I already have a really cool car," he said. 

Ianto laughed. 

"I don't expect you to be where I am," Jack continued. "But you're right, you should know. I want this on any terms I can get it."

"You have it, then."

"Good." Jack tugged him down into the pillows. "And you should sleep, because I was lying about giving you the day off."

Ianto yawned and nodded, closing his eyes. Jack curled an arm around his shoulder, hand resting in the fine hair at the nape of his neck. 

"Gwen'll be pleased," Ianto mumbled, and fell asleep to Jack's laughter in his ear. 

***

**Then**

"We have to wipe his memory," Gwen said. "It's the only way."

"Unacceptable," Jack retorted.

"She's right," Ianto said. "It's the only way to get rid of it."

"I'm not going to kill you!"

"Why not?" Ianto asked. "They used to execute murderers all the time. Still do, in America."

"You're not a murderer," Jack snarled. 

"It's not killing him, it's only four years," Gwen protested. 

"I'm not taking four years of his life, Gwen! I'm not going to take Lisa away from him and -- "

" -- and you don't want me to forget you," Ianto finished for him.

Jack just looked at him. "You'd hate me for it later."

"Not if it was my choice."

***

**Now**

He woke, for the second time in as many days, to the sound of a mobile ringing.

Before he could even scrabble for his, there was a beep and someone else answered. Ianto rolled over, startled, to see Jack sitting up in the bed, his back broad and naked in the dim light, holding a phone to his ear.

"This had better be pretty goddamned important," Jack was saying. Ianto watched as he stood and walked away from the bed, standing at the curtains of the window where they gapped slightly to let in moonlight. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," he said, in reply to a question on the other end. "It's called sleeping." He paused. "What?"

Ianto propped himself on one elbow. Jack glanced at him, a faintly worried look on his face. "Yeah, we had one show up last night. Well, ours lit up like a searchlight. I sent you the Royal Observatory data." Beat. "Where did it land?"

There was a long pause. Ianto heard someone faintly say " _You still there?_ " over the phone.

"Did it land in dirt?" Jack asked. "Because I want to know, that's why." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No. No. Listen, just dig it up, okay? I'm not going to make my team drive to London before sunrise. They're exhausted, Colonel. We're at half-strength and one of my people just had a pretty serious injury."

Ianto glanced down at the tape on his chest. Jack shook his head -- oh. 

He was talking about the lost time.

"Dig it up. Dust it off. Put it on a truck and ship it to Cardiff if you want, we'll take care of it. If you don't want to ship it to Cardiff we'll come out there but not at three in the morning. Oh, no you don't, don't pull the Official Secrets act bullshit on me. You've got at least two squads stationed in London. I've been more than helpful to you, I've sent you copies of -- do you want me to call up the Brig and have a chat with him? I'm perfectly willing to get him out of bed and tell him you want to talk to him. We're old pals, the Brig and me."

He winked at Ianto.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. So, make up your mind. Oh it did? So you _were_ digging it out. So you called me for no reason." A long pause. "Okay. Keep a heat monitor on it. I'll see you at ten. Have the paperwork waiting."

He hung up the phone and threw it on the bed, scrubbing his hands through his hair.

"Another Egg?" Ianto hazarded. Jack nodded. 

"That was UNIT," he said, sitting down again. "About twenty minutes ago an Egg dropped out of the sky in London."

"The sky this time."

"Yeah. It landed in a park near the river. They wanted me to come out and consult, immediately. Said they couldn't send me any information because of Official Secrets. Morons."

"Who's the Brig?"

"Old military buddy. He's retired. He rules UNIT with an iron fist, but only when I ask him nicely." Jack grinned a little. "The upshot is, we leave for London at seven. You can go back to sleep if you want. I need to get some stuff from the Hub."

"I'll come along," Ianto said, sliding stiffly to his feet. Jack's grin widened. "Do we have time to shower?"

"Only if we shower together," Jack said, sliding a hand down his spine.

Ianto rolled his eyes. "Did that line ever work on me before?"

"You invented that line."

"Liar," Ianto said, and Jack grabbed his shoulders and kissed him. And didn't stop kissing him, really, not even when he stumbled under the hot water in the shower and pushed Ianto up against the tiles.

Twenty minutes later, Jack rested his wet forehead against Ianto's while Ianto tried to stay upright in the small shower cubicle.

He said, "Canary Wharf."

"Huh?" Ianto managed, because as post-orgasmic pillow-talk went, it was fairly random. And only a very few of his own brain-cells were firing. 

"The Egg. It came down at Canary Wharf. In the memorial park," Jack said, running his fingers through the hair plastered to Ianto's scalp, "for the victims of the Torchwood Tower disaster."

"The Torchwood...oh," Ianto said, as Jack pushed away and actually made use of the water for washing, instead of an excuse to lick Ianto anywhere he felt like it. "I was there."

"Yes, you were."

"But I don't remember, it doesn't matter to me."

"It does to me," Jack said. 

"I didn't think the Rift went as far as London."

"It doesn't, but there's a pressure point there. It's what caused -- everything, two years ago." He stepped out of the shower and Ianto moved forward, rinsing away sweat and -- well, and Jack -- scrubbing shampoo through his hair. Jack was drying himself with one of the admittedly really great towels that reassured Ianto of his other self's taste in some things, at least. 

Good taste in men too, Ianto decided, eyeing Jack's arse.

"We'll give Gwen until six, then call," Jack said. "Leave by seven, get to London by nine."

"I thought you said ten," Ianto answered, ducking his head under the spray and then turning the water off. 

"Yeah. I like to make a dramatic early entrance," Jack passed him the towel. It was weirdly intimate, but Jack wasn't paying attention -- he was back in the bedroom already, digging in Ianto's wardrobe. Pulling on clothing. 

"You left clothes in my wardrobe?" Ianto asked, as Jack tossed him a pair of boxers.

"I'm an eternal optimist," Jack replied. "Besides, we're almost the same size. You wouldn't have noticed. When you showed up on our doorstep you were wearing one of my shirts."

"The -- the white t-shirt," Ianto said.

"Yeah."

Ianto reached out slowly and took the shirt Jack was holding from his hand. Jack looked at him. Ianto pulled it on. Plain white t-shirt, perfectly presentable. Jack's eyes were dark and wide. 

"Okay to wear when meeting UNIT?" Ianto asked innocently. Jack slowly eased a blue dress shirt over his own shoulders. 

"Yeah," he said hoarsely. "Do that."

They loaded the SUV with sensors and supplies and boxes that Ianto didn't know the function of, inbetween Jack begging him for one cup of decent coffee and Ianto making sure the Hub was secure. When they finally reached Gwen's flat at ten past seven, Jack sent him up to get her.

"Aren't you coming?" Ianto asked.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Because she wants to ask you about last night and that's less awkward if I'm not around," Jack said with a grin. 

"What do I tell her?"

"Whatever you want. It's not a secret. I don't care if she knows the details. She's seen you naked, by the way."

"What?"

"Okay, half-naked. She walked in on us once."

"And you had to tell me this now?"

Jack shoved him gently. "Go get her. Tell her as much or as little as you want."

Gwen answered the door in a flurry of movement and didn't actually stay in the doorway. Ianto peered through, then stepped inside. 

"Five minutes, I'll be five minutes," she said, running into another room and back out with a thick black wallet. "Hi, by the way. Do you see my coat anywhere?"

Ianto glanced around. "No?"

"Bugger."

"There's no rush -- Jack told them we'd be there at ten."

"Oh?"

"He wants to make an early arrival."

"AHA!" Gwen reached under a pile of laundry on the edge of the sofa and tugged. A slightly crumpled coat appeared. "Well, nice of him to tell _me_ that. Did he get you up at dawn too?"

Ianto unfocused for a minute. "Yeah."

Gwen stopped moving. 

"Did you...talk last night?" she asked cautiously. 

"Erm. Well, a bit." Ianto sketched a vague shape in the air. Gwen squeaked and hugged him. God, what was with the hugging? 

"I'm so glad. He's missed you."

"So he said. Repeatedly," he answered, as she darted away again. 

"Earrings, earrings, earrings -- okay. Wallet, gun, earrings, coat, shoes. Right!"

"Ready?" he asked, following as she brushed past him out the still-open door, closing it behind them. "H -- Jack said -- "

She laughed. "You're calling him Jack again!"

"He said they'd feed us in London when we got there."

"Brilliant. So," she added, taking his arm as they walked down the hallway. "Weevil-hunting. Did you have...fun?"

He stopped and looked down at her. 

"Fun," he repeated.

"Yeah," she said, a wicked look in her eye. "Did you have...fun."

He considered it.

"Three times," he said. "We -- we had fun _up against the SUV_."

"Oh my god," she burst out laughing. 

"Too much information, sorry -- "

"No! I think it's brilliant."

A car horn blew outside. Someone shouted an obscenity back at it.

"That's Jack," she sighed. "Come on. You can tell me about the fun later."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week ago in realtime he'd been wearing business suits. Now he was wearing Jack's t-shirt.

Ianto had been expecting the same reaction from UNIT that they'd had from the Cardiff police -- forced deference with an undercurrent of anger. The police might be happy to hand off nasty unsolvable cases to Torchwood, but in the end they didn't like the organisation. Torchwood, in their eyes, went where it wanted and did as it pleased and caused all the really spectacular civic disturbances. 

UNIT, on the other hand, apparently understood and appreciated the need for a thing like Torchwood Three, a shadow agency that could do what UNIT couldn't. When they saw the black SUV pull up, the soldiers nearest the road snapped to attention. 

"What do I do if they salute me?" Ianto asked Gwen. 

"Smile and nod," she said. "Think Royal Family, visiting the troops."

Jack left the car parked in front of a no-parking sign and jumped out, grinning.

"I love a man in uniform," he said, as they walked towards the pair of soldiers. "Or a woman in uniform. Or out of a uniform. Good morning," he said to the taller of the two. "Captain Jack Harkness."

"Yessir," the man said. "Colonel was expecting you at ten, sir."

"Good traffic," Jack answered. "Don't spoil the surprise. The colonel loves to be surprised."

Both men looked uneasy, but Jack clapped one of them on the shoulder and gestured for Ianto and Gwen to follow. 

The Egg that had come through in London wasn't hard to locate. It was sitting on a strange plinth of bricks and concrete rubbish in the middle of a flower patch, covered in a sheet of khaki oilcloth. Jack tossed a scanner to Gwen and walked up to a man in the centre of a knot of red-beret'd soldiers.

"So," he said, crossing his arms. The man turned. "Think you could make that thing a little more visible, Colonel? If you really put in some effort, I mean."

"Harkness," the man answered, looking not a whit put out. "Thank god."

"If I had a penny for every time I heard that," Jack said with a slight grin. "Where's your reconnaissance?"

"We're just assembling it -- "

"Well, lead the way. You know how much I love raw data."

The colonel looked uncertain, but Jack just kept smiling away until finally he turned on his heel and led them towards a military jeep on the far side of the Egg. Ianto felt deeply unnerved as a trio of soldiers fell in behind him in lockstep. 

"They like to put on a show for us," Jack said in an undertone, as they walked. "Torchwood -- our Torchwood -- used to tap agents from UNIT. They all say it's a good gig if you can get it."

"You must have amazing powers of propaganda," Ianto replied.

"Have we met? I'm Captain Jack Harkness."

"Point."

There were three UNIT jeeps parked together in one corner of the paved walkway, and spread out across the bonnet of one of them were a series of printouts, a pair of laptops, and a handful of paper coffee cups filled with stones, weighing down the paper against the breeze. Jack picked up the nearest paper and turned it sideways, studying it.

"Mass-spec," he said. "How'd you get a sample?"

"We didn't," the colonel replied. "We ran the dirt through on the off-chance."

"Yeah, I see, _dirt_ ," Jack stabbed a finger at part of the chart. He set it down, re-weighted it, and glanced at Ianto. "This is gonna take a while. See if Gwen needs help."

Ianto was about to answer when Jack leaned close.

"Listen to everything," he whispered. "Be my ears."

"Yes, sir," Ianto replied. 

"You, go with him," Jack pointed at random to a UNIT soldier. She jumped to obey. "Whatever he needs, you give him, got it?"

She saluted. Ianto tried not to laugh. He was turning to walk back to the Egg when Jack caught his arm.

"Not that way," he said. "Go around."

Ianto looked down. What he'd taken for textured metal plating, a few feet ahead, was actually a plaque -- an enormous plaque, filled with columns of writing, a narrow aisle next to each column. There were flowers scattered here and there.

Names.

Oh. Right. This was the memorial park for the victims of Canary Wharf. 

They'd said in the report Jack gave him that it was listed publicly as a terrorist bombing, with some nonexistent cult taking credit for it. The nonexistent cult had been captured by nonexistent troops and nonexistently executed after a trial with no cameras, classified under Official Secrets. 

Ianto turned carefully and walked around the broad, flat plaque, trailed by the UNIT soldier.

"What's your name?" he asked, as they walked. 

"Corporal Ganton, sir."

"You don't have to call me sir. I'm not in your chain of command."

"With all due respect, that's because you're above it. Sir. You're Torchwood."

Ianto glanced sidelong at her. 

"You're Ianto Jones," she added.

"Yes."

"I've seen your name on reports from Cardiff. Your team does good work."

"Thanks."

"Reckon you'll take the UPO with you back to Cardiff?"

"UPO?" he asked, and she coughed, trying to hide a smile.

"Sorry, sir. Term the others came up with. Unidentified Plummeting Object."

Ianto bit his lip, hiding his own laugh. "No, that's good. We call it the Egg. I don't know about taking it yet. Up to Captain Harkness. Gwen," he called, as they reached the little cleared area where the Egg was standing. "Jack sent me. Anything interesting?"

She offered him the scanner. "Residual Riftlike traces -- doesn't quite read the same. Tosh would have known more," she added wistfully. "Definitely came through _something_ like the Rift, anyway. Everyone I talked to says it fell out of the sky. They're getting footage from the CCTV."

The ghost shift had been caused by a weakness over Torchwood Tower, a weakness in space-time that put out a tremendous amount of energy. That much was in the reports. Supposedly it had been sealed up, but you could paint over rotting wood and it'd still rot. 

"Do we know how far it fell?" he asked. She shrugged.

"How tall was Torchwood Tower? We should find out where the -- "

"Breach was measured at six hundred and four feet above sea level," Ianto said promptly. "Five hundred and two feet aboveground spanning to five hundred and twenty feet aboveground at highest recorded point, locally."

Then he closed his mouth.

Gwen was staring at him. So was Corporal Ganton.

"How do I know that?" he asked. 

Gwen gave him a reassuring smile that did not in fact reassure him in the slightest. "Perfect recall, I expect."

"But it wasn't in the -- "

"Ianto," Gwen said firmly, cutting her eyes to the corporal, who stiffened and looked away. "Here, take this," she added, and pressed a second scanner into his hand. "We'll try bouncing it around a little, see if it's permeable."

They worked that way for a while, Ianto keeping one eye on the scanner and one on Jack, who was still studying readouts and talking to the soldiers nearby. He was smiling a lot. Eventually Ianto handed the scanner to Corporal Ganton, who looked like he'd just given her a chunk of gold. 

"Help Gwen out," he said. "And point me to the coffee."

There were three young -- very young -- men standing around a folding table with a coffee carafe and a large box on it, filled with odd packets. They fell silent when he approached and poured himself a cup.

"Have you lot been out here since three?" he asked, and they nodded. "Boring, eh?"

"Not really," the boldest of the three said. 

"Oh yeah?" 

"Well," the man said, faltering.

"Listen, I'm not your boss," Ianto told him. "I'm the office boy. Nobody's going to report you. Just trying to make conversation. _I'm_ bored."

This did the trick, and two of them were now smiling at him. 

"Well, we got to secure the area and watch the brass drop a brick," the bold one said. His namebadge said Karls. "Then the looky-loos came around and we ran them off. Then we got word you lot were coming up and the officers went off their heads again."

"Nice to know we have cred," Ianto said, sipping his coffee. 

"Loads," Karls assured him. "Then you actually did come up and we drew lots to see who got to guard the car."

"It's a brilliant car," the second soldier said. "All the bells and whistles."

"And bits and bobs, too," Ianto answered. They grinned. 

"You taking it back with you, then?" Karls asked.

"The UPO? Might do. Up to the captain."

"Don't suppose you need armed escort?"

"Are you asking for a trip to Cardiff?" Ianto raised his eyebrows.

"Just putting my name in the hat, sir."

"I'll let the captain know. Who got it covered up once it was off the ground?"

"Me, sir," said the second one. "Well, me and three of the others."

"Anybody touch it?"

"Not bloody likely. First rule of training: don't touch it."

"Second rule, don't lick it," Karls said, and they laughed. Some kind of UNIT in-joke, apparently. 

"Words to live by." Ianto glanced past them. Jack was watching him. "Boss looks hungry."

He poured out two more cups of coffee and lifted a packet out of the box, studying it. _Hamburger and beans_.

"Dare I ask?" he said, offering it to them.

"ORP, sir," Karls said. "Breakfast of champions."

"Is there a breakfast of hungry bastards who don't like military rations?" Ianto inquired. 

"What you see is what we got."

"All right." Ianto studied the packet as he carried a coffee to Gwen (who declined the rations) and then took the other up to Jack at the jeep. He ripped the ORP open, put the sack of food inside the chemical heating bag, and set it on the car hood.

"Rations," Jack remarked. "God, I hated rations. You know in an American ration pack they used to include cigarettes?"

"I wouldn't have high hopes for the coffee," Ianto said, offering it to him. 

"Hear anything interesting?" Jack asked, leaning against the jeep.

"Nobody's touched it. Everyone thinks we're taking it with us. Volunteers have stepped forward for armed military escort."

Jack's lips twitched. 

"Oh, and I know the precise height and location of the dimensional breach that used to exist over London," Ianto added. "Which was a surprise to me."

"Muscle memory?"

"The brain is not a muscle."

Jack looked troubled. "Are you having flashbacks?"

"No, just random moments of information."

"Martha's back on Monday, we can have her run some more scans. Actually, she's in London somewhere if you want us to go bother her now."

"Somehow I don't think Saturday morning is a very appropriate time to demand an alien brain scan."

"It's not an appropriate time to be digging an alien egg beacon out of the Canary Wharf memorial, either. Or eating..." Jack tore open the bag of food as it began to inflate with steam. "Hamburger and beans. Can I tempt you?"

"Anytime, sir," Ianto replied. 

"Mmh. I like that in an employee," Jack replied, taking the plastic fork Ianto offered and sampling the food. "Not bad. Gotten better," he said. Around a mouthful of food. Ianto gave up.

"I have Torchwood's purchase card. We're not in the back of beyond. I can get real food," Ianto offered. Jack washed the concoction down with a sip of coffee and a grimace.

"What's Gwen say?"

"She'd rather eat Weevil."

"Weevil chow?"

"No, actual Weevil."

"Okay. Provide succor," Jack said, with a slow grin. 

"Anything for you?"

"Get me some drinkable coffee. I think we're almost done here."

Ianto found a chain coffee-shop not far from the memorial park, crammed with people. He waited patiently, asked for a muffin for Gwen and a danish for himself, got Jack's hopefully-drinkable coffee, and passed over his card.

"Doing good business today," he said idly, as the barista ran the card.

"Lots of tourists," she said. "Guess something happened down by the wharf."

"Vandalism, I heard, at the memorial," said the man in line behind Ianto. "Crying shame, that. Nothing's sacred anymore."

"Have a nice day, sir," the barista said, handing him his card back. He nodded and left the cafe, hurrying back towards the park.

Jack wasn't at the jeep when he returned. Ianto stopped and swept the grounds, finally locating the blue greatcoat in a crowd of black-clad soldiers. At Jack's word they dispersed, and Jack seemed to look around him to see if anyone was watching before he reached into his pocket and took something out. It looked like a pair of small rocks, but then again this was Jack. They could be anything.

Ianto watched, unseen behind the jeep's chassis, as Jack walked to the edge of the memorial plaque and paced along it until he came to an aisle between names, apparently the one he wanted. He stepped onto the plaque and idled along it, head down, turning the stones-or-maybe-not-stones over and over in his hand. 

He stopped two thirds of the way down the aisle and crouched, the edges of his coat pooling around his feet. He touched a finger to his lips and then to a name on the plaque, then placed a stone next to it with his other hand. After a brief contemplation he walked to the edge of the plaque and found another aisle, far off from the first, and repeated the gesture with a second name.

Jack must have known people who worked in London, Ianto realised. Even if he broke with London he would have known people and lost people too. 

He waited until Jack had disappeared in the direction of the car before hurrying over, up the first aisle Jack had taken, the name easy to locate with the little stone to mark it. 

_Rose Tyler._

Meant nothing to him, hadn't been in any of the reports. He moved back and tried to locate the other one -- there, that was the stone he'd placed on the other na -- 

_Lisa Hallett._

Oh god.

"It's an old tradition, leaving stones for the beloved dead," someone said, and he whirled in surprise. Jack was standing there -- how did he do that? -- hands in his pockets, looking grave. "Jewish, originally. After humanity gets to the stars, flowers are in short supply for a while, but every colony planet has rocks, every spaceship has spare chunks of metal or plastic. Stones are best, though, I think."

"Who was Rose Tyler?" Ianto asked, not really expecting an answer.

"She was a friend. We traveled together for a while. She saved my life a couple of times. For years I thought she'd died here. Turns out she just got sucked into another dimension. Torchwood, huh? Never a dull moment," Jack said, with a fake smile. "She'd have liked you a lot."

"I'm sorry, Jack."

"Well, she's alive, and hopefully happy. Lisa's dead, but we're not. So, we go on." Jack jerked his head back the way they'd come. "Come on, they're loading the Egg into the SUV. We have work to do."

***

Things changed quickly at Torchwood. Ianto was grasping this. Yesterday their boss had been Harkness, now he was Jack. Two days ago the most important thing in the world was to know why four years of his life had been taken from him -- why he'd given them up -- and now it was to know what the Eggs were. Four days ago in his personal timeline he'd been packing to move to London, and today he was chasing alien artefacts around Cardiff at three in the morning. 

A week ago in realtime he'd been wearing business suits. Now he was wearing Jack's t-shirt.

Two years ago in realtime he'd had a dying girlfriend. Now...he was wearing Jack's t-shirt.

Four hours ago he'd been standing in London staring at the Egg that had dropped out of the sky from a breach in time-and-space that was supposed to be closed tight and now he was standing in a containment cell in the Hub, staring at two gigantic Eggs. The heat coming off them was evident in the small room, and he and Gwen were both sweating. Jack was merely...glowing. It really wasn't fair. 

"I feel all paternal," Jack said. "I hope whatever hatches from them is fluffy and needy."

"They're not actually eggs, Jack," Gwen said. "No life signs inside."

"They'd make one hell of an omelette." He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "It'd be a lot easier to figure out if they were eggs."

"So...what do we know?" Gwen asked, as Jack walked out of the cell. Ianto locked it behind them. 

"No visible surface interfaces. Mass spectrometer readings can't identify it, at least not from the little that came off the one in London. Survives a drop from six hundred feet without significant damage. Unknown power conversion mechanism. Advanced light and heat management. Some method of communication."

"And we have two of them," Ianto said.

"Did I award you the gold star for counting already?" Jack asked, leading them up to the conference room.

"Point being," Ianto continued, "When was the last time two identical things fell through the Rift? At separate times?"

"We have ninety-two mismatched alien socks," Jack pointed out. "They're in a box in the archives. Filed under 'socks, probably'."

"Mismatched, and that's over the course of a hundred and thirty years," Ianto replied. "And ten of them arrived together in a sack. Filed in the archives under 'sack, socks, for the containment of'."

Jack and Gwen both looked at him.

"Perfect recall," he reminded them. "I've been reading the database. Funny stuff. Archivists have a sense of humour."

"Could be more of them coming," Gwen said. "If we could get a precise time of arrival next time, we might start to get a pattern."

"The Rift is random," Jack said. "And the breach over London's been sealed for two years."

"Then it might be intentional. Some kind of message. Maybe even for us," Gwen replied. 

"They couldn't phone?" Jack sighed. "We have recorders on the heat fluctuations. I'll try to run Tosh's translation program on them, but it was set up for text."

"We could try to get another sample," Ianto suggested.

"I don't want to hit it with hammers. The amount of power they draw, it might level Cardiff. I hate it when we level Cardiff," Jack added. He put his hands flat on the table. "Okay. If they're coming through in a pattern then we'll probably have another one at three tomorrow morning, because aliens aren't really up on the whole 'Sabbath day' concept. Gwen, talk to UNIT, tell them to keep a lookout. Ianto, stock the SUV and set up monitors on the Royal Observatory email network, let's see what they're saying. Then go home, both of you."

"It's hardly afternoon," Ianto said.

"We've been up at three a couple days running. Go home, drink something herbal, get some sleep."

"Fine by me," Gwen said, and Ianto could see she was envisioning a long night at home with Rhys. He waited until she'd left the conference room and tilted his head at Jack.

"Coming home too?" he asked quietly. Jack glanced up at him.

"Might be better if I didn't."

"For who?"

"There's slow, and there's slow, Ianto. Take the night. Think about what you're doing. I've got all of time. I can wait a day." Jack stood and kissed him, which seemed a contradiction, but Ianto wasn't going to argue against Jack's lips. 

"You said you missed me," Ianto answered when they were done. It sounded petulant even to him.

"But now I know," Jack murmured, fingers stroking his cheekbone, like brushing away dust that wasn't there. "I know you're here. Maybe not the same place as me, but the same general area. And you need rest."

"Don't you?"

"Ever heard the expression, _I'll sleep when I'm dead_?" Jack asked. He laughed and tapped him on the cheek and pulled back. "Go home and get some sleep. Don't forget to stock the SUV first."

"Yes, sir," Ianto replied, twisting the _sir_ just a little to make it something private, intimate. He wondered where he'd even learned how to do that.

"And send Martha an e-mail about Monday," Jack yelled down the hall after him. 

"Yes, sir," Ianto yelled back, rolling his eyes.

Ianto set his alarm for two-forty-five, though when it woke him the next morning there was no call from Jack or from UNIT. He made himself a cup of coffee -- god, why? Lisa Hallett must have been pretty goddamn amazing to make him drink this for her -- and sat up until four. When his eyelids began to droop and there was still no call, he went back to bed.

There was nothing when he woke at seven or when he arrived at the Hub at seven-fifty. There was nothing at eight, when Jack caught the smell of coffee and emerged half-naked from his office, pulling a shirt on and calling, "Ianto?"

There was nothing at eight-fifteen when Myfanwy demanded a game of keep-away with the basketball, or at eight-thirty when Gwen arrived. 

By ten, all of them were rechecking the figures on the Eggs and scanning and re-scanning the Observatory's computers for any sign of disturbances in Great Britain's night skies. By eleven, Jack was restless, his fidgeting making them both insane, and Gwen made Ianto take him out of the Hub. 

_Use any excuse, I don't care._

Ianto got to ride on the invisible lift for the first time, which was fun.

At eleven-fifteen, as they were walking along Mermaid Quay, Ianto's phone rang.

"Ianto Jones," he answered. Jack looked like he wanted to eavesdrop.

"Aw, Jesus, who is it this time?" said an American voice on the other end of the line. "I'm trying to reach Harkness. Captain Jack Harkness. Do you know the guy? Do you know someone who knows the guy?"

"Yes, sir," Ianto replied, catching Jack's eye. "I'm his assistant. How can I help you?"

"Well, thank fuck for small favours. Put him on."

"I'll see if he's in. Can I give him your name?"

"For the love of -- Statten. Henry van Statten."

"One moment, sir." Ianto muted the phone. "An American named Henry van Statten wants to talk to you."

Jack tapped his comm. "Gwen?"

"Yes Jack?" Gwen's voice came over both their comms. 

"Look up a guy named Henry van Statten. American. See what UNIT has on him."

"On it..." a brief pause. "Henry van Statten, American, millionaire -- some kind of pharmaceuticals tycoon. Lives in Utah. There's a flag on his file from Area 51, they've got their eye on him."

"Huh. Could be interesting," Jack said. "Pass him over."

Ianto took the mute off and handed him the phone. Jack winked at him and held it to his ear.

"Captain Jack Harkness," he said. "Yeah, my assistant -- really. Well I'm flattered. Who'd you call? No, they wouldn't. What can I do for you?" A long pause. "I see. When did it -- I see. And you -- okay. So it's out. Yeah, I'm familiar." He chuckled. "Mr. van Statten -- can I call you Henry? Henry, I'm in Cardiff." A pause. Jack looked annoyed. "It's in Wales. Great Britain. You're going to have to give us...you do. Sure. How long? Wow. No, this number. We can talk about payment later. All right. See you in Utah." He hung up the phone. "What an asshole."

"What'd he want?" Ianto asked.

"At around three o'clock this morning, local time, an Egg appeared in the middle of the desert outside Salt Lake City. Apparently this guy van Statten beat Area 51 to it. He called around, someone gave him my name as a consultant. He's sending a jet for us."

"He's sending a jet?" Ianto asked.

"Yup. We're going to the States. Gwen!"

"Here, Jack," Gwen's voice came over the comm.

"Get on the phone to Area 51, see why they have him flagged."

"There's an Egg in Utah," Ianto said.

"The crow flies at midnight," Gwen replied. Ianto snorted. 

"Can you hold down the Hub while I'm gone? I'm taking Ianto, because he can't," Jack said.

"Oh thanks," Ianto said. 

"Well, you can't."

"How long?" Gwen asked.

"Wednesday at earliest, I should think," Ianto said, doing timezone maths in his head. "Nine hours to get here and another nine to get us there -- "

"Uh," Jack said.

"What?"

"He's sending a Concorde."

"The Concorde isn't even -- "

"Apparently he owns one."

"He owns a Concorde?" Gwen asked. 

"I don't even know how to calculate for that," Ianto said. 

"Give it five hours. Ten and we'll be in Utah. Depending on how fast we can get him to give us the Egg, say a day. Five hours back," Jack said. "Accounting for time zones, we should be back just in time for Tuesday's Egg-drop, if this keeps up. What?" he asked, as Ianto stared at him. "You think you're the only person in this burg who does math? Okay -- Gwen, make the call on Martha if you think you want her there for Monday's drop, wherever the hell it's going to be. If not, let her know to come down on Tuesday instead, give her another day with her boy. Call UNIT if you need backup."

"Ask for Ganton and Karls and anyone Ganton thinks is good," Ianto added. 

"It's a shame I'm so competent and well-trained, I could be taking a Concorde to Utah," Gwen replied. 

"All in good time, gorgeous," Jack said, and flicked off his comm. "Let's go see what we can find out about van Statten."

As it turned out, what they could find on van Statten wasn't much. Area 51 knew he was a crackpot alien-chaser, always poking around where he wasn't wanted. He was rumoured to have some artefacts but, the few times they'd sent someone in to investigate, van Statten had laughed their agents out of his house. He had museum experts and astrophysicists on his personal staff. Considering how many new drugs he put out on a yearly basis, the research division at his biotech firm was really tiny. 

"Sloppy," was Jack's verdict, when they presented their findings. "The way he's parading around, they should be coming down on this guy like a load of bricks. Instead he's stealing their march. Area 51 isn't coping. Remind me when this is over to go to DC and knock a few heads together."

"Do you have that kind of power?" Ianto asked.

"No, but he'll have fun trying," Gwen sighed. "You should get going, the plane'll be here soon."

"I'd take you, but it's going to be boring and someone has to sit on the Rift," Jack said, looking contrite. "As soon as we re-staff, schedule yourself a vacation."

"That always works out so well," she said, but she looked pleased. 

Ianto went home to pack and change, and took a call that the jet was arriving at the airport while he was still en route. He called Jack, who was already there, and got directions to the private side. When he stepped out of the cab, Jack wolf-whistled.

"Didn't I say you look good in a suit?" Jack asked. Ianto fidgeted with the hem of his waistcoat. "Trying to impress the millionaire?"

"Never know, he might offer me a job at higher pay."

"We did say you could get a job anywhere by looking ornamental and being willing to shoot things. Come on. Ever been on a Concorde?"

"Never been on an airplane," Ianto replied. Jack glanced at him, a shadow flitting through his eyes.

"You have, actually," he said quietly. Ianto thought for a minute.

"Ah. We went to CERN," he said. "Read about that."

"You'd seriously never been on an airplane before?"

"Dad didn't like them. We did train holidays." 

"You're gonna enjoy this, then," Jack said, as a young man in a sober blue uniform took their bags and led them up a rolling stairway to the airplane. 

Inside there were benches along the windows and two tables near the back. Behind one table was a well-secured bar, done in mahogany and brass. There was a stereo system too; Jack immediately went to it and began fiddling until he found the rack of CDs nearby.

"Swing," he said, a profound expression of glee on his face. He popped the CD into the changer and turned the volume up. 

Fats Waller, Ianto thought absently. Very Jack. _If I go to church on Sunday and a cabaret on Monday, tain't nobody's business if I do..._

"Swanky place," Jack said, sitting down opposite him on another bench. Ianto felt strange and awkward wearing a suit jacket, compared to Jack in his worn blue Oxford. "Teaches us a thing or two about van Statten, too."

"Such as?" Ianto asked.

"He doesn't go to people. They come to him. Otherwise he'd have flown out here to meet us. And he's a show-off, because if he doesn't use this himself then it's purely for other people's comfort...I used to be a pilot," he added randomly. "Nothing like this. Recon, fighters, bombers." He looked distant for a second, then sat back, relaxing. "Strap in. They won't stay on the ground long. And remember, when you start to panic, we're not actually in trouble unless I'm panicking too."

"Who says I'm going to panic? Did I panic last time?"

"There was a certain tension," Jack replied. 

Ianto very carefully did not tighten his hands on the bench or watch Jack incessantly during takeoff, because Jesus Christ machines like this were never meant to get airborne, they couldn't be...

"Good job," Jack said, when they were finally levelled off again and Ianto relaxed. "Brought you something, by the way." He passed across a cheap bound book, stuffed here and there with paperclipped receipts and bits of card. 

"What's this?" Ianto asked, opening it. His own handwriting on the front page: a date, a sketch, a few sentences.

"Your diary. Until we...talked, I couldn't give it back to you."

"I keep a diary," Ianto said. 

"Diligently, until a few weeks ago."

"I am judging myself so much right now," Ianto said, paging through it. 

"It's interesting reading."

"You read it?"

"You left it out. Months ago, don't look at me like that. I put sticky-notes on the interesting parts," Jack added helpfully. Ianto looked down. There were narrow yellow post-it edges sprouting like weeds from the later pages. Ianto turned to one of them, read the writing, tried to hide the horrified look on his face, and glanced at Jack.

"You really need to learn how to convert inches to centimetres," Jack was trying not to laugh. He undid the seatbelt he'd worn for takeoff and slipped across to Ianto's bench, touching the book. "This is your record. There's not much you in it, but it's what you thought was important to remember."

Ianto flipped a few pages along. "Cinema tickets?" he asked, studying the torn stubs stapled to a page. 

"We went to the movies."

"Why are there three tickets to one film on three separate nights?"

"You missed the ending the first two times."

Ianto frowned. 

"I was distracting you," Jack said in his ear. Ianto closed the book gently.

"I did go home and think last night," he said. He could feel Jack tense, though he didn't move much. 

"And?"

"I think I'd like to go to the cinema with you again," Ianto said, giving him a small smile. Jack beamed. "Besides, clearly I'm going to have to take new measurements..."

That got him a laugh. "Read your book."

"And you will be...?"

"Brooding on Eggs and admiring the way you wear a waistcoat."

Ianto looked down at the waistcoat in question. "I honestly wore one of these every day? Did people not stare at me as if I were an arse?"

"They stared at your arse instead. Trust me." Jack patted him on the leg and darted across again, digging in his bag. He took out his laptop, flicked it on, and (presumably) dove into the latest readings off the Eggs.

Ianto didn't mean to get engrossed in reading his own diary, because that was just narcissism on top of self-indulgence and he would have liked to talk with Jack some more once Jack was finished with his work. After a few pages, however, the hum of the airplane and the clack of Jack's fingers across the keyboard and the jazzy horn music all faded out. 

It was interesting stuff: accounts of their finds, hastily scrawled supply-lists, notes, sketches. Jack was right, there wasn't much about him in it, and thank god for that to be honest. It was mostly cases they'd worked. The generalities didn't vary that much from the official reports he'd read, but there were anecdotes that weren't in the reports, copied-down remarks that Jack or the others had made, sly observations about the people he'd worked with. On one page there was a chart mapping out the time and location of Owen Harper's coffee demands from day to day, apparently as an attempt to establish a pattern. Finally, at the bottom, he'd written "Ask Tosh to hook Owen up to the computer and see if he can be used as a true random-number generator."

All of them were mentioned in some respect, Tosh more than the others at first -- well, if you didn't count Jack, who was on every page. Jack says, Jack told us, Jack found, Jack thought, Jack did, Jack went, Jack asked. Then lots of Tosh, offhanded remarks about getting coffee together or having her show him some computer tricks. Gradually there were more mentions of Gwen and Owen, and other names -- Rhys, Andy, Martha. 

One page gave him pause. It was blank, except for a date and a single sentence: _Leave well alone._

"Do you know what this is about?" he asked, holding it out to Jack. Jack looked up, studied it, shook his head.

"You remember the date?" Jack asked. 

"It's one of the two days you say we lost."

"Ah," Jack said noncommittally.

"We don't know anything about that loss? Nothing at all?"

"Only that all the deletions were digitally signed by me, and that's hard to forge considering my digital signature requires a retinal scan. And that's the way I feel when I think about it." Jack pointed at the page. "Leave well alone."

"Captain Harkness," the young man from earlier said -- to Jack, because Ianto was, as far as Henry van Statten knew, just the PA. "We'll be serving lunch in a moment, if you'd like to move to the table."

Jack pressed his tongue between his teeth, thinking. "We're running on Utah time?" he asked finally.

"We've found it's easiest to acclimate to the jet lag that way," the man said apologetically.

"Works for me. We'll touchdown at what, two or so?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Remind me to call my girlfriend around eight-thirty tonight, Ianto," Jack said. Ianto tilted an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Eight-thirty in Utah was three-thirty in the morning for Cardiff. Gwen would have Egg News by then.

They really had to start calling them something else. Also, he couldn't have said 'sister'?

Jack spoke about nothing in particular as he ate, messy and unself-conscious as ever. Mostly he talked about Cardiff, dancing around Torchwood on the whole. He mentioned the rebuilding efforts in the city, speculated about the politics of the grant for a new hospital, theorised about water-current patterns in the bay and where they were likely to wash up debris. Ianto couldn't puzzle it out, but he didn't have to. He was learning that he would be told when the time was right. All he had to do until then was cope and try not to make too many assumptions. It felt passive, but then there was only so much activity you could get up to, sometimes. And once he had just a little more information he could stop waiting so much and --

Well, Jack had answered some questions. He'd told Ianto more than he'd been asked, about Rose Tyler. Maybe he'd answer more, if Ianto knew the right questions to ask. 

They touched down in Utah a little ahead of schedule, at a private airstrip. Two people were waiting for them -- a middle-aged woman carrying a folder and a youngish man who practically screamed Private Assistant, in the way Ianto probably currently was as well. 

"Captain Harkness, Mr. Jones," the woman said, shaking hands. "My name is Bonnie Smith, I'm head of research for Mr. van Statten's private collection. This is Richard, his assistant. Welcome to Utah."

"Nice landscape," Jack replied, but he was looking at the pair of them as he said it. Ianto suppressed the urge to roll his eyes so hard he'd sprain something. "Always thought Utah'd be pretty."

"If you've never been, I can see that you're given some sightseeing brochures," Richard said, as Bonnie handed Jack the folder in her hands. 

"I don't think we'll be here long enough for that, but you never know your luck," Jack said with a wink. Richard coloured; Bonnie smiled. 

"Mr. van Statten's very eager for you to examine his new acquisition, but he understands you've just jumped seven time zones in five hours. If you'd like to be shown to your suite, we can arrange for you to meet Mr. van Statten later tonight."

Jack cut an almost imperceptible glance at Ianto, who nodded slightly. 

"We're good, I think," he said. "If you can get us some coffee we'll push through. Shame to make Henry send a Concorde and then waste all that time sleeping. Keep up, Ianto," he added, apparently for show, since Ianto wasn't trailing more than a step behind.

They were led into a small building at one end of the airstrip, down three flights of stairs, into a lift that seemed to hum and descend forever, and out into -- 

A museum. 

High ceilings, decorative support beams, the works. Objects in glass cases all around them. Ianto felt his jaw drop. Jack whistled low.

"Impressive, isn't it?" said a voice, and a well-dressed man -- built on large lines, radiating smugness -- appeared at the far end of the room. "You must be Captain Jack Harkness," he said, walking forward. 

"Either that or you paid a lot of money for an impostor," Jack answered, meeting him halfway. Van Statten grabbed his hand, clapped him on the arm, and ignored Ianto completely.

"I'm Henry van Statten. Good to meet you. Flight all right? She's something, isn't she, my jet?"

"Beautiful piece of work, Henry," Jack answered, flashing his perfect white teeth. 

"Yeah, and I got her for a steal. Come on, let's get to business, then you can get some shuteye," van Statten was already steering Jack away. "I hate jet lag. Captain Harkness, huh? What are you captain of, by the way? All I know is, everyone I talked to said you were the one to ask about this -- thing."

"Former pilot," Jack said. "Kept the title."

They passed a glass case with a hairy stuffed arm in it. Just an arm. Ianto swallowed. 

"Suits you! Like that coat, too. Retro style. Bonnie, did you give him -- "

"Yes, Mr. van Statten," Bonnie replied, as they followed Jack and van Statten like ducklings. Another case, this one with a set of small metal discs mounted on felt -- Ianto recognised them from the Torchwood database. Alien earrings. Made for alien ears. 

"Great. This is everything we've got on the object," van Statten said, tapping the folder in Jack's hands. "We're calling it the Dragon's Egg."

"Catchy name," Jack remarked. He was oozing charm out of every pore, matching van Statten point for point in sheer...American-ness. "This should be interesting. I've never seen one in person."

They passed a plinth with a vase on it. It didn't look alien, but it did have teeth in the top. 

"You've seen records, though, right? Pilot, huh? That code for military intelligence or something?"

"I got around, in the service," Jack replied. "Guess you figured out how to switch it off."

"Get it out of the ground? Yeah. Haven't been able to crack it open though."

Another case, a strange lacquered helmet shaped like a bird's head -- either that or it was some alien bird on display...

"Try a diamond saw?"

"Yep, no dice. Lasers too. Here we go..." van Statten stopped in front of a heavy door, keying a code into the lock on the wall. "And listen, if you've got the time and you do good work on this, I've got like two dozen other things you could have a look at."

"Sounds great," Jack said. The door slid aside and van Statten waved Jack in. Bonnie put a hand on Ianto's arm to stop him from following. Jack noticed the movement and leaned back out. "It's okay," he said, upping the wattage on the grin. "He's with me."

"Your eyes only, Captain Harkness," van Statten said.

"Call me Jack. Sorry, but some of my stuff's a two-man operation. He's gonna have to see it sooner or later if you want accurate readings."

Van Statten looked torn. He obviously didn't like not calling the shots.

"He's confidential, don't worry. Ianto, tell Henry about the Slitheen."

"What's a Slitheen?" Ianto asked.

"See?" Jack turned to van Statten. "Silent as the grave. Scout's honour. He's Welsh, they don't talk at all unless you make them. Don't make me pout, Henry."

That seemed to amuse van Statten. He cocked his head and waved Ianto through with an aw-shucks smile. 

The room was low-ceilinged and plain, lit with fluorescents, quite a difference from the elegance of the museum. The Egg sat on a cup-shaped stand in the middle of it. There were what looked like electrode patches attached to it at various intervals. Ianto drifted over to the computer monitors on one side, working to get a handle on the readouts van Statten was taking. 

Van Statten's PA, Richard, had disappeared without them noticing, and now reappeared with coffee that Ianto had to admit was a fair substitute for his own. It gave him the necessary edge of wakefulness; it was good to be alert when Jack was playing a dangerous game and depending on Ianto to play along without knowing all the rules. 

Jack immediately spread out along a workbench to one side of the Egg, sorting the papers van Statten had given him and setting out a handful of tools -- a metal pick, a switched-off scanner, his mobile phone, a ballpoint pen, a small torch, a tuning fork. This was a performance, Ianto realised, a sleight-of-hand where only Jack knew what he was palming. 

"Oh, x-rays, nice," Jack said, holding them up to the light. They showed nothing. "Uh huh. Did you do a spectral analysis while it was still going?"

"Second from the bottom," Bonnie leaned forward slightly. Jack raised his head and smiled at her.

"You're thorough," he said.

"We aim to please, Captain Harkness."

"You have very good aim. Okay. Henry, how'd you like to help with a little experiment?"

"My hands are yours," van Statten said proudly. Ianto fought to keep the resigned annoyance off his face, only to find that Richard was looking every inch the way he felt. Jack caught their exchanged glance as he was giving van Statten the tuning fork. 

"Ianto, why don't you run along and play with Henry's kid for now? I'll get your help when we get to the scanners."

"Yes, sir," Ianto murmured. Richard waved him through the door and then followed him. Once outside, Ianto loosened his tie and exhaled in relief.

"Pretty impressive, eh?" Richard said. "Your boss have any idea what it is?"

"Dunno yet. Might do, soon."

"Where's he work?"

"Not usually under an airstrip in Utah."

They looked at each other, but Richard broke first; he laughed and cocked his head at a doorway across the wide display room. "Come on. Have a seat, take a load off."

"Your boss wants you to pump me about my boss," Ianto said, as they walked into a small office kitchen, complete with cheap plastic chairs and a vending machine. And there was a display-case here, too, a small taxidermied lizard, labeled "TARKASIAN - 1849". 

"Like yours doesn't want the same thing from me?" Richard asked. 

"He just wanted a look at the museum, I reckon. And the Egg."

Richard nodded. "You likely to actually tell me anything else?"

"Are you?"

The other man leaned back in one of the chairs, tipping it on two legs. "I don't know a lot. He buys this stuff up from whoever's selling, doesn't care if it's real or not. Bonnie authenticates it if she can. I mean that Egg is alien, right?"

"I think so. It's certainly not someone's idea of a joke."

"Well, so..." Richard waved a hand. "He's got tons of crap like that."

"Must be interesting work."

"Yeah, if you like constantly dancing on the edge of termination. Plus..." Richard leaned forward. "Between you and me and the Tarkasian, I think he's losing it."

"Losing it?" Ianto asked in a hushed voice.

"He's stepping up his security, inch by inch, not because he needs it -- he's just paranoid he's going to. He heard a rumour that there's a machine that can wipe memories, he's gonna find it so he can wipe anyone he's fired. Which means firing a lot more people, lemme tell you. He's expanding the bunker downwards, way further than it needs to go, for no real reason I can see except 'we could be safer'. Seriously, the minute that mindwipe thing shows up, I'm outta here. The benefits aren't that good."

Ianto nodded. "I know what you mean. Better than you think."

"So, come on, quid pro quo me a little here, Ianto Jones."

Ianto laughed. "Fair enough. Captain Harkness freelance consults. I think he saw a lot of things he isn't talking about when he flew. Keeps his lips sealed, y'know? MI-5 might be after him."

"No way."

"Mm." Ianto sipped his coffee and set it down. He was...enjoying this, in a peculiarly perverse way. "He keeps a low profile. I guess he probably likes your boss's style. They seemed..."

"Friendly. Though it looks like Captain Harkness gets friendly with pretty much everyone."

"Lonely childhood, I expect," Ianto said. Richard laughed. 

There was a rap on the door and Jack put his head in. Richard was instantly on his feet. Ianto gave him a dry look and stood. 

"Need you," Jack said. "Hop hop."

"If Captain Harkness wants you, Mr. van Statten will want me," Richard said, following him through the door and back out into the museum. It really was amazing, a beautiful cavern tucked away from prying eyes, much nicer than the Hub, but at the same time...well, Torchwood didn't lock something away if it was useful, only if it was dangerous. And if they found a dead body they at least locked it in the morgue away from view, instead of chopping it up for a display. 

"Set this up over here," Jack said, handing him a scanner as he stepped inside. "Power source," he added to van Statten. He plugged a USB cable into a port Tosh had modified for it (Ianto had read the specs -- fascinating stuff) and ran the cord around the other side of the Egg, fitting it into a digital camera mounted onto a pole. Strapped between camera and pole was a small ratchet device. 

"We need to calibrate the scanner and let it run for a few hours," Jack was saying, poking the camera as if it was going to do something supernatural. Ianto fiddled with the "power source". 

"Can I watch?" van Statten asked.

"Yeah, but it's going to be really boring," Jack said, offhanded. "Listen, this is a good thing. Give me some time to get online, talk to some contacts, get my head down for the night."

"Okay then. Richard?" van Statten prompted.

"Driver waiting for you, Captain Harkness, he'll take you into town. We've set up a suite for you and a room for Mr. Jones. I have dinner recommendations as well," Richard said promptly.

"Watch out, Ianto, I might trade you in," Jack remarked. He turned the camera on and pushed a button on the ratcheting device. It began to twitch and move, ever so slowly. "That's that. See what we have for you in the morning, okay?"

Van Statten looked delighted -- and not a little avaricious, his eyes glittering in the fluorescent light. 

"These contacts -- "

"Eh," Jack held up a hand. "Gotta keep some secrets or I'd be out of a job. Your kid said something about a hotel?"

Richard escorted them back into the lift and took them up. True to his word, there was a large sedan with a driver, waiting for them at the top. Jack's gentle pressure on Ianto's arm as he climbed into the car told him they weren't quite out of the woods yet. 

"What'd you think of van Statten?" he asked, as they sped along towards Salt Lake City.

"He seems very efficient," Ianto replied. 

"He's a good guy. Always thinking. Inquisitive. Wants to know how things work," Jack agreed. This was a show -- probably for the driver. "American spirit, Ianto. It's why we've still got our empire."

Ianto smirked. "An example to us all."

"Don't get smart with me, I pay your salary."

Jack drifted off into an easy monologue about America, which lasted them until they reached the hotel and there were bags and bellhops to be dealt with. 

Ianto was shown briefly to a pretty standard hotel-room: king bed, dresser, telly, bathroom. He stayed long enough to set down his bag and then followed the voices down the corridor to Jack's suite, which was about as far from standard as it was possible to be. There was a tastelessly enormous atrium filled with plants and furniture, with stairs on one side leading up to a loft bedroom overlooking it all. There was a kitchen involved somehow. Ianto didn't dare look in the bathroom. 

"I could get used to this," Jack said, sprawling on a sofa and narrowly avoiding knocking over an enormous vase of ivy. "Unpack me, huh?"

Ianto raised an eyebrow, but Jack put a finger to his lips and opened the catch on his wrist-strap, tapping a sequence into it with his right hand. The television blared on and off again quickly; something hissed in the kitchen. Then, to Ianto's concern, there was a fizzling noise in the ceiling and a brief puff of smoke. 

"Van Statten's been bugging us," Jack said. "He's been listening in on us since we left Cardiff."

"That's why you put the music on in the jet," Ianto said, realisation striking.

"Yep. He wants to hear what we're saying, and now he doesn't get to. There's probably some in your room too. We should leave those on, he'll think it's a short in the wiring around here. Not to malign the guy who's keeping me in splendour, but I stand by my previous assessment of _asshole_."

"You seemed to do well, though."

"I was great," Jack said. "Sometimes I miss the con game."

"Con game?"

"Long time ago. Different life. Still, good to know I haven't lost it. Stop unpacking," Jack said, lifting his eyebrows, "and come here and unpack."

"That was beneath you," Ianto said firmly.

"You'll find there's almost nothing beneath me."

"Food first."

Jack moaned. "You're right. What time is it really?"

"Five-thirty."

"In Cardiff."

"Just past midnight."

"Okay," Jack said. "Restaurant around here somewhere. Steak. Gravy. French fries," he said, his American accent deepening and thickening. 

"Heart attack."

"Immortal."

"Rub it in," Ianto rolled his eyes.

"I'd like to, but you're insisting I buy you dinner first."

"Well, if you buy me a drink you might find I put out."

Jack pushed himself off the couch and -- there was no other word for it, he _stalked_ forward. 

"Are you suggesting I get you drunk and debauch you?" he asked.

"I'm suggesting that after tolerating your act for van Statten, I need a drink," Ianto said. He pulled his tie off and shed his jacket, rolling his sleeves, breathing with relief as he unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. 

"You're not helping," Jack said quietly.

"Food," Ianto insisted. 

***

"So," Jack said, when they were settled at a table in the hotel's reasonably classy restaurant, waiting for their food, "what'd you learn from princely Richard?"

"Van Statten's indiscriminate. Doesn't know much. I imagine he gets fooled a great deal. The woman, Bonnie, she's the brains when it comes to the artefacts, but van Statten runs the show. Richard thinks he's going mad."

"Really," Jack drew the word out, interested.

"Paranoia, unpredictability -- he's manipulative, likes power. Apparently," Ianto said, "he's also looking for a machine that wipes memories. So he can fire with impunity."

Jack paused, a water glass halfway to his mouth. Ianto knew what he was thinking, what they both were. He pressed on.

"He's not an idiot, Richard. Says when that comes along he'll bugger off. Nice bloke."

"And what did he learn from you?"

"That you're a freelance consultant, possibly a criminal, probably on the run from MI-5." Ianto sipped his pint and gave him a smug look. 

"Dangerous to know."

"Something like that." 

Jack smiled on him -- pleased, but also affectionate. "Great work."

"I do my best."

He leaned forward. "I promise, when this is over, I'll explain the Retcon."

"I'm sure you will. Torchwood isn't a museum run by a small-minded man who never gets to show off his toys," Ianto replied. "The similarities are superficial at best."

"I like the way you say superficial."

"I'll make sure to call you that frequently," Ianto replied, as their food arrived. He was silent for a few minutes, giving Jack a chance to eat, enjoying the food. When Jack had finally slowed down enough to chew, Ianto took another sip of beer and put his fork down.

"Van Statten's not going to give us the Egg, is he," he said. 

"No," Jack replied. "I don't think we could buy it from him even if we tried."

"What do we do, steal it?"

"We could. I don't think we should. I'm not scared of van Statten, but he could cause us more trouble than he's worth. He struck me as vengeful."

"And clever."

"Ignorant but not stupid, I got that from him," Jack replied. 

"So what do we do, Jack?"

"Check in with Gwen. See what she's got. Stall for time. If these things just keep falling, sooner or later we're gonna have to do something."

"Why did it show up in Utah, of all places?" 

Jack shrugged. "There's no Rift here. On the other hand, there's a huge concentration of alien devices in that museum. Temporal resonance, maybe. In that one part alone there were at least five things that shouldn't exist yet. Might be creating a hot spot."

"By that logic, the Hub should be a likely target."

"Bite your tongue," Jack said, but he smiled as he said it. "We'll see in a few hours. There's something...weird about the museum."

"Aside from the underground bunker full of alien devices?"

"Yeah, like...a memory I can't quite catch. Like I've heard of van Statten before. It'll come, I guess," Jack said thoughtfully.

They lingered once the food was done, speculating about the Eggs and about van Statten's collection. Ianto didn't see why they couldn't send the Army in; Jack was more reluctant. He brought up Mr. Parker, the strange old collector in Cardiff, who had essentially held the longest running cold war with Torchwood in the organisation's history but was effectively harmless, so long as someone kept an eye on him. 

It was evident that it hurt Jack to talk about Dr. Harper, who had been lead agent when they finally had to confront Parker. Ianto wasn't certain he ought to ask, but he got the sense that Jack had been more father than boss to Owen. He wasn't best at identifying what Jack was to each of them, but every ounce of information he managed to wrench out of the captain helped in one way or another. Father-figure for Owen, Toshiko's...friend, perhaps even confidante, a challenge for Gwen, a brother-in-arms for Martha...

Which left him. And the thing they'd never put a label on. 

Maybe Jack was a challenge for him, too. That would explain a lot -- the flustered tension between Jack and Gwen, the reason Gwen seemed to hold tight to Ianto. Some incredibly dysfunctional connection all three of them shared. But Gwen was married and he was the one in Jack's bed -- in Jack's bed a lot, apparently. 

"Ianto," Jack said, waving a hand in front of his face. "Come back."

Ianto smiled and nodded. "Sorry. Jet lag, maybe."

"Then we should go to bed," Jack suggested, his voice dropping low. Ianto wondered idly if that trick had ever fooled him. Maybe he'd wanted to be fooled, a little. 

In the elevator, Jack rested his hand in the small of Ianto's back, guiding him past an elderly couple and a young tourist. He kept it there for about two seconds, then slid it down to his arse. Ianto thought about hip-checking him, but suspected that would only make him grab. As it was, the slide of his palm along the light wool trousers was tantalising. The message was clear: _work time's over._

They were barely through the door into the suite's atrium before Jack got an arm around his waist and pulled him backwards until their bodies were flush, kicking the door shut with his foot. His other arm came around and opened the strap on his wrist again to scan for repairs to the bugs. The telephone on the side-table near the door shorted out. 

"Shame," Jack said. "Could have given them a show."

"Next time, maybe," Ianto replied. Jack bit his earlobe. 

"If you want to," he whispered, fingers working at the buttons on Ianto's waistcoat. "I won't object."

Ianto tilted his head, smoothing a palm over Jack's busy hands. 

"Though, what I'd really like is to have you on every horizontal surface we can find," Jack continued in the same filthy voice. "I don't think you get what the suits do to me."

Ianto leaned back against him as he got the waistcoat undone. The shirt underneath was tugged free and Jack's other hand worked his belt-buckle slowly. 

"Sometime I'll tell you what we did with two of your neckties and a waistcoat," Jack continued.

"A waistcoat?" Ianto asked, alarmed.

"You'll have fun. Right now, I'll settle for something a little less complicated. Fine by you?" Jack asked. 

"Fi -- " Ianto stifled a moan with an indrawn breath. "Fine."

Jack was about to say something else when Ianto felt something buzz against his hip; they both started, and then Jack tightened his arm, trapping him there as he pulled the mobile out of his pocket.

"Gwen," he said, looking at the caller ID.

"Oh god," Ianto replied. 

Jack answered it anyway. He'd managed to get the belt buckle undone and apparently decided to prove he could multitask. His fingers were drawing small circles on Ianto's stomach, warm against his skin.

"News?" Jack asked, holding the phone to his ear. Ianto could hear Gwen's voice, but not what she was saying. "Uh huh. Okay, tell me..."

He went very still; his hand stopped, halfway down Ianto's trousers, and Ianto swallowed a whine of frustration. 

"It did," he said. Ianto turned his head, nosing along Jack's cheek. Jack's arm tightened. "No, I think that's good. It'll help us out here. Really. I remember that thing. Box, right?"

His hand began to inch lower again. Ianto pressed silent, dry kisses against his jaw, hips jerking against Jack's arm. 

"Go ahead and find it. That's what I thought. And did we get a new Egg? The -- oh, Gwen," and Jack's voice was rich with amusement. "I'm sorry. No, I'm not laughing."

Ianto twisted his fingers in the material of Jack's trousers. Jack bumped his knee against Ianto's in warning. 

"Go for it. Unless you think it's dangerous, get some sleep and call me tomorrow. I'm tied up at the moment. Well. Hope to be soon."

Ianto huffed air against his skin. 

"Absolute torment. Yep. Okay."

Jack hung up the phone and tucked it back in his pocket. "Gwen says," he said, cupping Ianto's cock lightly, "that the Egg hatched."

"What?" Ianto asked stupidly.

"The outer shell dissolved. It was cycling down energy. It's wood underneath," Jack murmured. He twisted his wrist slightly. Ianto moaned. "Good boy," he added. 

"What -- what's she going to -- "

"She remembers something that came through a while ago. She's going to find it. And more importantly," Jack added, "it leaves us the rest of the evening free, barring disaster. Enjoying that?"

"Yes, but the..." Ianto couldn't think, could hardly breathe, but this was work and probably important.

"Gwen's on it. Another Egg came down in the bay. She got it out, it's contained. They work in water, too. Briefing over," he announced, and turned Ianto to kiss him thoroughly -- messy, dirty, intense. Ianto spared a quick sympathetic thought for Gwen, hauling one of those things out of Cardiff bay, but he couldn't hold onto it. Not with Jack undressing them both now, deft and sure. 

"Gentleman's choice," Jack added. "Couch? Bed? Kitchen counter?"

"Cold," Ianto said. "Bed?"

"Bed."

They kissed their way up the staircase, Jack's shirt catching on the banister as he discarded it, Ianto losing track of his trousers somewhere near the top. Jack pushed him down on the bed and propped himself over him on his elbows, beaming.

"Hi," he said. "Wanna fuck me?"

Ianto gaped. 

"Do we do that?" he blurted. 

"Do you really think there's much we don't do?" Jack asked. He twisted his hips enticingly. 

"I just assumed..."

"As I think we've established, I'm easy," Jack said. "Whatever you want. But it's good, that way." He bent his head, sucked on Ianto's throat. "I want to show you everything," he said against his skin. 

"I, yes," Ianto babbled, as Jack straddled him. "Yes, please, show me, I can, yes, how -- "

There was a clatter from the floor nearby as Jack's phone buzzed again. Both of them looked up. Jack dropped his head, thudding it against Ianto's chest.

"Gwen," he mumbled. 

"Probably," Ianto gasped. 

"I can -- "

"No, answer it -- might be important."

Jack groaned and rolled off him, catching the phone on the fourth ring.

"Please go to bed," he said, in greeting. He was silent for a while. "Okay. But it was classified harmless, right? Yeah, well, someone found it and catalogued it. No...not tonight. Go to bed, Gwen. Call me..." he ran a hand through his hair. 

"Noon," Ianto offered.

"Call me at noon Cardiff time. Goodbye, Gwen. _Goodbye._ "

He set the phone on the nightstand next to the bed and ran his hands through his hair, obviously thinking. 

"What was it?" Ianto asked.

"Unimportant. Tell you tomorrow," Jack replied, crawling across the bed and kissing him.

"But -- "

"Tomorrow," Jack insisted.

Perhaps it made him a bad person, or at least a bad employee, but he found as Jack took his hand, kissed him, showed him how to open him up (gently, so gently, as if _Jack_ might break), that he didn't care what Gwen had uncovered. He didn't want to think about it, not when Jack was making soft, sharp cries in his ear, not when Jack was straddling him again and easing down. Not when Jack was tipping his head back and undulating his hips, sheened with sweat, moaning filthy encouragements and chanting Ianto's name. 

His last rational thought before it all got swept away was that there were worse jobs than being Jack Harkness's very personal assistant -- than being Jack's 'unlabeled'. 

***

**Then**

"What the hell can I say to you that's not going to freak you out?" Jack asked, turning sideways from the camera to look at Ianto, leaning in the doorway.

Ianto shrugged. "Tell me the truth."

"Would you have been okay with the truth when you were twenty?"

Ianto smiled. "Twenty-one. I was...a lot less intense when I was twenty-one."

"Oh, I can't wait to see that," Jack muttered. Ianto turned to leave -- Gwen was waiting for him outside, with handcuffs, ready to take him back to the cell -- but then he paused. 

"I was an arsehole sometimes. Maybe a lot of the time. Go easy on me," he said over his shoulder.

"Come back to me," Jack replied. "I'll figure you out as I go."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, there was the comforting thought that perhaps he hadn't been mad before and was now _going_ mad, because Ianto Jones had always been good at taking two bad situations and combining them.

**Now**

The phone rang at five am.

Ianto moaned blearily and rolled over, groping for it, putting it to his ear before he was even fully awake.

"Oh god what," he mumbled.

"Can the men of Torchwood not manage to say _Hello?_ " Gwen asked in his ear.

"Sorry, sorry," he said. "Gwen. Hi."

"Didn't expect you, Ianto."

"Huh?"

"You're on Jack's phone."

He took it away from his ear, looked down at it. Yup. Jack's phone. His own was in his trousers, which were somewhere...far away.

"Yes," he said. "I am."

"Is Jack there?" she didn't sound amused. Ianto cast around. 

"Hang on," he said, and slid out of the bed. He could see down into the atrium if he leaned over the railing. Jack was sitting at the kitchen counter, eating French toast off a room-service trolley. "Yeah. Jack!"

"Morning!" Jack called.

"Gwen for you."

Jack held up his hands, wrists together, fingers outstretched. Ianto dropped the phone, holding his breath until Jack caught it. Jack winked up at him.

"Gwen. Didn't hear you ring. What's going on?" he asked, as Ianto looked for something decent to wear. He gave up and came down the stairs while Jack was still chewing a piece of toast. "So you found the documentation."

Jack smacked him on the arse as he passed. Ianto stole a slice of bacon from his plate. 

"There has to be an agent listed. We'd catch that before...oh," Jack said, sounding almost...frightened. "No."

Ianto looked at him questioningly. Jack shook his head. 

"You're absolutely sure nothing came out? Did you check the sub-etheric scans? No, I know -- _I know you know how to do your job_ , Gwen. We'll be back as soon as we can. Set up a remote, leave the Hub, take Martha with you. Go to the hospital, have her check you both over." He hung up, presumably so that Gwen wouldn't have the opportunity to object.

"Sounds serious," Ianto said, pulling on his trousers. He'd have to wash; he reeked of sex and Jack, but a serious work conversation required trousers at the very least. 

"The casing on the first Egg dissolved. The second one's starting to crack. Looks like when the power cycles out it loses cohesion. If we can cycle out van Statten's we can break it up quickly, he'll like that and we can go home," Jack said. 

"We knew that last night. And...?"

"Gwen identified the style of the interior structure and got it open. Hollow wood, sand inside. She cross-referenced another artefact from memory, couldn't find any documentation. When she did, there wasn't any name on the paperwork. I'm listed as registering agent, but there's no originating agent."

"Sloppy records-keeping?"

Jack shook his head. "She found the original evidence bag, too. It's...linked to why we retconned you."

"What? Is it contagious? Are they safe?"

"There's nothing alive inside the Eggs. They're beacons, they have to be. Dropping in, offering a series of points to help chart a course. I don't know what they're signalling but I'm guessing it's coming. And it's not going to be pretty."

Ianto leaned against the counter. "We have to go back to Torchwood."

"Very soon. Get a shower, we'll call van Statten at six-thirty. I think he's a morning person."

***

Henry van Statten was delighted to send a car for them at six-thirty, and to meet them at seven in the museum. Jack was acting again, all backslaps and grins, but it looked more forced than it had yesterday. There was a tension around his eyes that Ianto hoped only he noticed. 

"Great news," Jack said, as van Statten keyed in the lock-code. "I talked to some people, took some soundings, crossed a few palms with the coin of the realm."

"Payoffs?"

"Nuh uh. Information. Nothing about you, I have my own private libraries," Jack assured him quickly. "I just need to check the scan info and I think we might be able to get your Dragon's Egg open. I can't promise you'll find much inside, though."

"Can we preserve the outer hull?"

"Fraid not. You can sweep it up when I'm done, though," Jack said. "Ianto, disconnect everything."

"Sir," Ianto murmured, and set to work dismantling the ridiculous camera while Jack subtly unplugged the scanner, which had actually been doing a scan, and palmed the data card out of it, slipping it into the computer. A few taps brought up the same information that it had for the other two. Impenetrable, pulsating with heat. Now that he knew where to look...

"See, the heat's diminishing. It's losing cohesion. Really slowly though. Hey, have you got any jumper cables? Kinky, I know, but they might do the job."

Van Statten snapped his fingers. Richard disappeared, presumably to locate some. 

"And something to stash all that energy in..." Jack glanced around. "Hey, what do you have that I could set on fire?"

Ianto could see his faintly manic energy for what it was, a way to get this done fast and get back to Cardiff, but it suited him in a strange way -- as if Jack were born to do this. It didn't take long for Jack to fashion something that should in no way work, given the current laws of physics, but did look awfully impressive -- crumpled paper under a large domed glass case, with the cables running underneath from the Egg. 

"Watch this," Jack said with a grin, and everyone held their breath as he shoved a lit match under the case and slammed it down.

There was a _whoomph!_ of flame and a sucking noise. Jack bumped the end of the cable with some small device Ianto couldn't even identify but was probably the real reason that the heat in the room suddenly got a lot worse. At the same time, however, cracks were appearing in the glittering shell of the Egg, and little puffs of iridescent dust were shooting up. Van Statten laughed like a maniac. Richard edged subtly behind Ianto. Bonnie was staring impassively, taking notes without looking at the notepad in her hand. 

With a gust of hot air and a roar, the Egg rocked violently and the remaining bits of shell dissolved into powder, dropping to the floor. A lot of it got into the air, and it was a minute -- a minute of Jack whooping and putting out the fire under the glass case -- before the iridescent dust settled enough for the understructure to be visible. When Jack finally reappeared from the fog he was smiling like the cat that got the cream, his hair and shoulders dusted lightly with glittering powder. 

Under its shell the Egg was definitely made of wood, carved in an intricate pattern and touched here and there with gold. There was a latch near the base, just barely raised from the rest of the carvings, and Jack gestured for van Statten to pull it. A trickle of sand poured out of the small hole it created. 

"Sand," van Statten said dully.

"Well, can't have everything. It's pretty impressive and definitely alien," Jack said. "And the powder ought to keep your people entertained."

"I know it's stupid, but I was kinda hoping for a real dragon," van Statten said. 

"It's good to have dreams," Jack informed him. Ianto could see Jack was itching to say goodbye and bolt, but that would be suspicious. They might even have to stay through lunch. 

"Good work, all the same," van Statten managed, closing the little door. "You're welcome to stay and help with the powder analysis, if you want."

"Wish I could, Henry. I got a call this morning, they want us in Britain. Strange doings at the Paraguayan Embassy."

Van Statten lifted an eyebrow.

"We wouldn't presume to borrow the Concorde again..."

"Nah! Use it, I don't need it today. Stick around though, if you're going to have the extra time. We have to talk money."

"Well, this has been pretty fun and that hotel room was crazy. Plus, Concorde. I don't think you really owe me anything for the work."

Van Statten stopped Jack as he started to leave.

"Then lemme pay you to keep quiet," he said, a note of steel in his voice. Ianto held his breath. Jack seemed to consider it.

"Yeah, fine. Twelve grand."

"Five."

"Ten."

"Eight."

"Done," Jack said, with just the right amount of reluctance, as if he knew he wouldn't get more and would be in trouble if he tried.

"Richard?"

"I'll count out the cash, sir."

"Great. You do that. Jack, come along with me. I got one other thing I want to show you. Consider it part of your payment. I think it's up your alley."

Jack hid the hapless frustration pretty well, actually, as he followed van Statten out. The man was a braggart and a boor, but perhaps he'd have something interesting. And they were seeing more of the museum, at least, which couldn't hurt. Even if portions of it were disembodied limbs of various creatures, which probably _had_ hurt.

They ended up in a concrete-walled hall, in front of another door. Bonnie looked terrified. Van Statten hid the keypad with his hands as he entered the code. He waved Jack in ahead of him, but Ianto waited firmly until van Statten had entered before he followed. Bonnie stayed outside. 

It was dark at first. He could imagine Jack's thoughts about van Statten getting him alone in the dark, and hoped he wouldn't actually say them out loud. Instead, Jack just turned -- a shadow in profile more than anything -- and regarded van Statten curiously.

"You got lights in this place?" he asked. 

"Wait for it," van Statten said, and flicked on a series of dimmers. They saw walls first, then a bank of computers, then chains, and then the thing they were there to see.

It was a small, claustrophobic room and the thing and its chains took up one end of it. It wasn't quite as tall as a person, though it did have a dome-shaped head of sorts. Emerging from the head was a metallic eyestalk, or what Ianto assumed was an eyestalk, given the sketches and CCTV stills he'd seen of similar creatures. Two arms with strange appendages emerged from a squat body shaped a bit like a pepper pot. 

It took him a second to realise the whole thing was a metal construction, and another second before the name came to him.

It was a Dalek.

"I call it the Metaltron," van Statten was saying proudly. Jack's eyes were narrow, his mouth tight and disapproving, marring his usually handsome face. "Can't figure out what it is. All it does is scream when we try to get the casing off."

"Where'd you get it?" Jack asked, sharp and fast.

"Come on, Captain! I can't give away all my secrets. You got any idea what it is?"

Jack's right hand jerked across his body, as if he were reaching for the strap around his wrist, but at the last minute he rubbed his elbow and bicep instead. 

"It's creepy," he mumbled.

"Enigmatic," van Statten corrected. 

"Never seen one before," Jack continued. He was almost stuttering over the words. "Can't help you with this one. I can't even think of anyone who'd know."

"That's what they all say," van Statten sighed. "Nobody knows what it is. It won't talk, but I'm pretty sure it can."

"Henry, this is great and all, but I really need to get going," Jack said. 

Ianto eyed the collector. He was getting off on this -- enjoying showing off his toy and seeing it frighten people. He was threatening Jack, obliquely, with the consequences of saying anything to anyone about van Statten's little collection.

"Sure, of course. I'll have them fire up the jet. Hey, and keep an ear to the ground, okay? I pay good commission," van Statten said, leading the way out of the tiny room. Ianto glanced over his shoulder at the Dalek as he left. He hoped he was imagining the odd flicker deep in its eyestalk. 

Jack was silent the rest of the flight home. Ianto didn't even try to talk to him, just kept an eye on him as he stared out the window, right hand rubbing his strap compulsively. 

He'd read the casefiles on the Daleks, knew that Jack -- that they all -- had encountered them fairly recently. Apparently the story put about to the public was that they were mass hallucinations, and this had kept the name from even getting across the pond. Amazing what people would ignore if they were told to in a kind, authoritative voice. 

He knew that Jack had been killed by them during the encounter, that was in the report too, but Jack was killed by a lot of things and he seemed to take his temporary deaths pretty much in stride. The Dalek terrified and upset Jack Harkness to a truly unnerving degree. 

It was evening when they deplaned. Jack bought rail tickets instead of hailing a cab, which was surprising, and Ianto brought him food from the station stall. He picked at it for a few minutes as they settled in for the ride back to the city centre, then ignored it. 

"Jack," Ianto said finally. "Why did we leave a Dalek in the hands of a madman?"

Jack plucked at the paper cup in front of him. 

"There must be someone who can go in there and get it and...kill it or something," Ianto persisted.

Jack shook his head. "It has to stay there. Because it's there later."

"What?"

He sighed. "This isn't my story, it was told to me. You're getting it second hand. I got it from Rose Tyler."

"The girl from the memorial, the one in the other dimension."

"Yeah. She..." Jack's lips twisted unhappily. "She told me once that she ended up in Utah in 2012."

"She was a time agent."

"No. It's -- I'll explain that some other time. She was in Utah in 2012 and she met van Statten. I knew I'd remember this..." Jack closed his eyes. "She didn't tell me his name but it had to be him. She met him and he showed her the Dalek, or someone did. It got loose and slaughtered hundreds of people before she stopped it." He glanced out the window. "God, she was glorious. Anyway, they filled the museum with cement. Erased it, basically."

"But if it kills all those people, we can -- "

"We can't. I'm crossing my own timeline now. Close enough, anyway. If we take the Dalek away, we cause a paradox, space and time implode. We can't take it from him, we can't do anything to him, because he has to be there so that in 2012 she can do the job, and then she'll tell me about it, and eventually I'll end up here."

Ianto studied him. "Well, that's fine and good, but it doesn't exactly explain why you look like you're falling apart round the edges."

That earned him a sharp glare and half a snarl before Jack stopped himself. 

"I don't -- like Daleks," he said instead. "The first time I ever died a Dalek killed me. It's their fault I don't have Rose or -- or my Doctor anymore. They hurt people I love. All they do is hurt people. That's almost why they exist." He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. "And I've got to tell you about the Retcon, and that's not going to be pleasant either. My life is so -- " he cut himself off. "No point in that. It is what it is."

Ianto nudged his knee against Jack's, trying to reassure him. "You've got us though. Me and Gwen. And Martha should be back."

Jack did seem to brighten a little at that. Ianto wasn't sure if it was the reminder, or the fact that it was Martha. "Yeah. Sulking is idiotic. Call Gwen and Martha, let them know we're on our way."

***

"Okay," Jack said, when they were assembled in the Hub again, "We can sleep, or we can have a really unpleasant conversation. This is Torchwood so, naturally, unpleasant conversations it is."

Gwen, sitting on the couch, smiled a little at Jack and stroked Ianto's arm, clamping her fingers around his left hand. He glanced at her, let his hand fall loose, and tried to look apologetic. Martha was standing, leaned up against one of the desks next to Jack. She'd given Jack thorough reports on the safety of the Egg and the stability of her memory as well as Gwen's, which was starting to make Ianto really, really nervous. Jack crossed his arms and bowed his head. 

"Two months ago, Owen and Tosh died," he said quietly. "Not long after, you started acting...different. Aggressive. Irrational. Not often. Never on a case. I noticed it first, you..." he made a brief gesture, tucked his hand under his arm again. "You spent more time with me."

"We thought you were grieving," Gwen said quietly. "We all were, anyway."

"You were having nightmares," Jack said. "Much more often than normal. You weren't sleeping. Seemed logical you'd be a little less than tactful. Then you started getting..."

"Angry," Gwen said. "It wasn't like you."

"Gwen and I were worried. You wouldn't have reacted well to the idea that there might be something wrong, so we had Martha come down, made up a story about exposure to toxins so that she could scan each of us in turn," Jack said.

"Nothing came up, but I didn't know what I was looking for," Martha added. 

"We just thought you were struggling," Jack said. "It's a lot to lose in two years -- Canary Wharf, Lisa, then Tosh and Owen."

"Problem is, around the same time, women started disappearing from Cardiff," Martha took up the story, tapping a few commands into the keyboard between her and Jack. A series of images came up on the screens, split into two -- on the left, photographs of women he didn't recognise. On the right, the same women, obviously dead. Each of them had purpling bruises around their throats. Two had wounds on their faces.

"Four women were reported missing," Jack said. "All from the same area of town, all eventually washed up in the bay. All strangled."

Ianto flashed back to the first morning he'd woken up not knowing where he was, and the newspaper article -- a fourth body found in the bay. 

"I was killing people?" he asked.

"No," Jack said emphatically. 

"It wasn't you, sweetheart," Gwen added. 

"Then what...?" Ianto looked from Gwen to Martha to Jack. 

"The women weren't our concern, we didn't make that connection -- the police were dealing with it, we didn't have to. Then about ten days ago you brought me these."

He held up a Torchwood evidence bag with a pair of black leather gloves inside it. Ianto studied it, confused. Jack held them out and he reached out to take the bag, then instinctively drew his hand back. Martha and Gwen were watching intently.

"You told me there was blood on them," Jack turned the bag over in his hands, then set it down again. Ianto breathed deep. "You were right. You said you were starting to remember killing people. The women who were disappearing. Always after a rain...always on nights when you weren't with me or on a case. You wanted me to lock you up."

"Jack wouldn't believe it," Gwen said. 

"You don't even like shooting people," Jack said. "I was pretty sure you weren't strangling anyone. You were cranky, not a psychopath."

"You were so sure," Martha said. "We put you on the lie detector, it was green all the way. You were positive you'd killed these women. And it was their blood on the gloves."

"But nothing added up," Jack said. "For one thing, you remembered killing eight women. Only four had gone missing. So we..."

"We put you in the probe," Martha said. "The mind...probe...thing."

"The mind probe?" Ianto demanded. "The one that made the Durani's head explode? I read that report! What the hell, Jack?"

"It's safe for use on humans!" Jack said defensively. "We had to know what was going on because it wasn't you, okay?"

"What if it was?" 

"It really wasn't," Gwen said. "We know that now."

"I know you," Jack said fiercely. "I know how you think. I know how your mind works. Nothing's that easy for you, just bundle up the rage and go hunting in the rain. You don't separate things that way."

Ianto watched him, feeling as unprotected and wary as he had when he'd first been brought into the Hub. "Then what was it?"

"Well, obviously your head didn't explode," Jack said, turning away. Martha chewed on her lip.

"We found another consciousness," she said slowly. Ianto could feel the ice creeping up his spine, the fear that had lingered in the back of his mind since he'd realised in school that things like blue eyes and black hair and mental illness could be passed from parent to child. "He called himself Adam."

"Oh my god," Ianto murmured. 

"We don't know how he -- "

"Dissociative identity disorder," Ianto said. "Multiple personalities. God," he repeated, and heard himself laugh, shrill and frightened. "It's like a bad horror movie, that's what I thought from the start, I have an evil personality and I'm going round killing people. So does Retcon cure schizophrenia, then, or was it just a stop-gap -- "

"What? No!" Martha said. "What are you talking about?"

"My -- my mother," Ianto said, looking curiously at Jack. "It's in my records, it must be..."

"What's his mother -- " Martha started, then turned to Jack as well. Jack looked -- more rebellious than guilty, but it was as much of an admission as guilt would have been. "You edited his medical history."

"It wasn't important," Jack said.

"His mother was schizophrenic," Gwen said to Martha. 

"It wasn't important!" Jack insisted. "He doesn't like to talk about -- "

"Jack, he thinks he's mad! It's important!" Martha looked furious. She turned on Ianto, eyes bright and angry. "You're not mentally ill, you were _possessed._ By an alien. And _drama queen_ here didn't think it would scare you to be told someone else was living in your head. Or that it might have been important to the diagnosis. That's brilliant, Jack!" 

"What the hell do you want? He starts telling you he's killed people, I tell you his family's got a history, anyone would snap to a diagnosis. And it would have been wrong."

"You couldn't know that -- "

"I KNEW THAT!" Jack bellowed. 

"This isn't helping," Gwen said, and her voice was like cold steel -- god, no wonder she'd taken over when Jack left them. 

"All right, for a start, schizophrenia and dissociative identity disorder aren't the same thing, which you would probably be aware of if you weren't skating on the edge of hysteria," Martha said to him. "Second, there's no evidence of a psychotic break. Third, we found an alien living in your mind. So excepting the fact that you voluntarily spend your time with Captain Careless -- "

"Martha!" Gwen said. 

" -- you're as sane as anyone who works for Torchwood," Martha finished. 

Ianto shook his head, trying to clear the low buzz of fear and confusion that was making their voices seem distant, faded. 

"Alien," he managed. "An alien in my mind."

"Well, we're assuming," Jack said. "Something in there that shouldn't have been, anyway. Some race that feeds on memory. Energy caused by memory. He got into you. And apparently he likes the really _nasty_ memories."

"We don't know when he got there or how long he was dormant," Martha said, more gently. "When we got to him with the probe, he wouldn't give us much. Once we got you out, you could chase him a bit. You said he'd got as far back as Canary Wharf. Every day, eating away just a little bit at who you were. Left the memories intact, just...brought them all up front. And since those hadn't been enough -- "

"He killed those women. It wasn't you," Gwen said. "He took your body and killed them and made you remember, but it wasn't you."

Ianto could hear his breathing still, harsh and sharp. Jack looked like he was afraid if he moved Martha would slap him. 

"The only way to kill him was to get to him in your memories. Knock out everything he'd touched. That meant Torchwood. He knew Lisa. You met her on your first day there, you told us as much," Martha said, into the silence. "We had to. You knew that."

"I chose this," Ianto said.

"Yes."

"Well, I would do," he mused. "Choice between madness and Retcon, bring on the Retcon."

Jack made a strangled noise that was halfway between a snort of laughter and a sob.

"That's what you said before," Gwen said. "Jack didn't like it."

"Understatement of the century," Jack muttered. 

"There wasn't any other way," Martha reminded him. "We fought about it for two days. You said the fourth woman was going to wash up soon, and the rain was coming -- and it'd be on Jack's head if there were any more deaths."

"No shortage of rainy nights in Cardiff," Ianto said. 

"We cleaned your flat," Gwen said. "Took out anything that could have led you back to Torchwood if you chose not to come. Set up a new job for you if you wanted it. You made Jack make the video." She gave him a small smile. "And you came back to us."

"And now we know where he came from," Jack said, his voice cutting across Gwen's. "Adam. He gave us his name."

He held up a Torchwood evidence bag with ADAM written on it. 

"This bag showed up during the two days we lost, along with three or four artefacts," Jack said. "I'm guessing he got to all of us and we retconned him out of existence. Except that you," he said, pointing at Ianto, "have a little genetic quirk. Perfect recall. Which makes a nice cosy place for an alien that feeds on memory to settle in and lay low."

"Makes sense," Martha said. "It's a theory, anyway."

"And then Gwen found out what else showed up during the lost weekend," Jack continued ruthlessly. "A carved wooden box full of sand."

Ianto looked at Gwen. She dropped her eyes.

"These Eggs, they're related to the box somehow," she said. "They're the same design, same construction, just a different shape."

"Four Eggs in four days at the same time locally each time isn't the Rift," Jack said. "It's someone sending them through."

"Could be an invasion," Martha said. "Except there's definitely nothing in them. Problem is, this technology is millennia beyond ours, I mean the power conversion alone. And if they can manipulate weak points in reality long enough to send something through, their weapons are going to be..."

She trailed off, because it was apparent that nobody was listening. Gwen was still watching Ianto. Jack was watching them both. Ianto breathed in, held it a beat, breathed out.

"If we're going to push through until three, we'll need caffeine," he said, pulling away from Gwen and brushing past Jack. 

"Ianto -- " Jack said, but he darted out of reach, turning briefly, not breaking his stride.

"No, Jack," he said. "Not here, _not_ now."

Jack looked angry, but he didn't follow as Ianto hurried across the fountain-pool walkways to his corner, the three-sided workbench with his computer and his coffee machine. Coffee, coffee was easy, everyone had their own mug and -- 

He stared at the machine. Every time he'd run it, he'd been on autopilot. Now, wanting to distract himself, he had no idea how to operate the thing. He put his hand on a lever at random, bowed his head, closed his eyes. Inhale, exhale. 

_"And then there's you."_

_"Me?"_

_"You."_

_"Still waiting to kill me?"_

Ianto's eyes flew wide -- he was certain he'd heard the voices, one of them his. And the smell of breakfast, of coffee, and the maddening itch and ache of wounds not yet deadened by painkillers. 

_"I think we both know that was an empty threat, Jack."_

He could see Jack's smile, the way his face bent over the steam of the coffee cup. 

_"It certainly seemed like it last night."_

_"You said no."_

_"I said_ not now. _"_

_"And now?"_

_"Are you offering, Ianto?"_

_"I'm asking."_

_"Yes."_

Ianto sucked in a sharp breath. The vivid memory faded as quickly as it had come, though the smell of coffee didn't. He found himself staring down at four steaming cups. 

Well, there was the comforting thought that perhaps he hadn't been mad before and was now _going_ mad, because Ianto Jones had always been good at taking two bad situations and combining them. 

"What I'm saying is, what kind of an alien schedules on our clock?" Martha was saying, when Ianto returned. "Earth's twenty-four hour orbit is pretty unique," she added, glancing at Jack, who nodded.

"Unless they're on a twenty-four hour orbit as well, they'd have no reason to stick to three am."

"They didn't, not entirely," Gwen said. "In standard time, we have a twenty-four hour gap, then a thirty-one-hour gap, then a seventeen-hour gap."

"Maybe it's some kind of timer," Martha said. "Set to go off every full cycle. Sending the Eggs through wherever there was a place they could fit."

"The wider the spread, the better the accuracy at pinpointing orbit," Jack said. "Cycled through the Rift, the breach over London, and the -- "

He broke off as he saw Ianto. His face closed down, shuttered into an expressionless mask. Ianto offered Martha her coffee first. 

"How many reference points do you suppose they'd need before they could navigate?" he asked Jack neutrally, passing him the second mug. 

"Might just keep sending Eggs till they show up," Gwen said.

"Unless they're planning on passing through the Rift as well," Ianto observed.

All three of them looked at him.

"Well, where one can go..." he tilted his head at the plastic bag labeled ADAM. 

Silence. He cleared his throat. 

"I'll check the databases, shall I?" he asked. 

"I'll log you in," Jack said. 

"I'll have a look at Tosh's Rift-prediction program," Gwen said hurriedly. "If we know there's a big spike coming..."

"Did it...not predict the Eggs?" Martha asked in a very soft, very apologetic tone.

All of them turned to look at her.

"We're not just talking about someone sending things through when the Rift spiked, are we? We're talking about someone who can cause a spike," she continued. "What kind of power do you suppose it would take to cause a spike?"

"It's not the power. It's the technology. Manipulating reality like that..." Jack studiously didn't meet anyone's eyes. "The only race I know capable of that is the Daleks."

"And the Doctor," Martha added. "But it's obviously not them. I think giant wooden eggs are a little abstract for a Dalek. Really too subtle for the Doctor."

Jack cast her a look Ianto couldn't interpret at first. Part warning, perhaps part amusement. Mostly, though, Jack just looked worried. 

"Okay," he said, exhaling on the word. "Rift prediction would still be handy to have. Look for large spikes or regular patterns. Run it back through the last three weeks only, see if it throws up anything new. You on top of that?" he asked Gwen. She nodded. "Good. Ianto, let's get you authorised for the whole database. Think you can work it?"

"Seems easy enough," Ianto said. 

"Look for anything related to the box or the Eggs. Rift manipulation, beings or objects that alter memories, past incident reports. _Do not_ look at your own incident report. Martha, call UNIT. I want teams standing by at every base. They need to clear the area around the London breach and keep monitors on it. Call Area 51, have them on standby, I don't want van Statten to get another Egg. I'll be on the database." 

They scattered throughout the Hub: Gwen to the tech desk, Martha to the central column where phone reception was best, Ianto following Jack to the computer bank just outside his office. 

"I'm going to be in the weapons and tech catalogues," Jack said, as his hands moved across the keyboard, opening Ianto's file and reauthorising his full access. "We may cross each other once in a while. If you need a file I've got open, let me know."

"What are you looking for?"

"Energy weapons, neural shields -- anything that'll keep them out of our heads or off our streets."

In the background, Martha's voice was faint but insistent. "Every single base. That's a direct command from Torchwood. Authorisation code five two nine eight two two nine."

"Okay, you're in," Jack said. "Get on it."

He darted around Ianto, leaving him in front of the bank of monitors, and disappeared into his office. Ianto studied the database screen, clicked over to the Advanced search fields, and started inputting keywords.

It was a sort of rush, the way everything slotted together: so many mysteries, so many things he didn't know, but for once everyone had a place and a duty and his task was difficult but clear. A few minutes later Martha ran in to report to Jack, and then she was disappearing into the archives with a comm over her ear, Jack already murmuring to her from the office, telling her where to go. 

Files began appearing in Ianto's window. He fumbled around for a method of sorting them, found it, and began work in earnest.

It was easy to lose himself in the database, flying through the various objects he found, setting some aside, culling others out immediately as no-interest specimens even as he started to run a second search with new keywords. This wasn't any different from some of the data-entry jobs he'd had (a week here, two weeks there, until he lipped off to a supervisor or finished the job early or worked too fast for someone's comfort). 

After a while the profiles began to change from object to...beings, he supposed was the proper word. Aliens with an interest in human history, aliens with low-level telepathic ability -- one race with biotelekinesis, briefly here and quickly gone, disinterested by primitive mechanical human medical technology. Beings on quests, coming to Earth, finding what they wanted or not, moving on. The vast majority of existence seemed to be looking for something, on their way between points. Most passing travelers didn't seem to even give their little world a glance. But the ones that did...

He started when he felt a hand on his shoulder; Jack, behind him, leaning past him to study his screen.

"What've you got?" Jack asked.

_"What've you got?"_

_"Funny sort of weather patterns."_

Smell of sleep and dust, the chirp of a computer, hand on his shoulder...and Ianto realised it was nearly two in the morning. 

Exhaustion, that was all it was. Fragments of voices. Weather patterns. Whatever.

"Nothing related to the Eggs, not that I can tell," he said, calling up file after file. "Couple of things that might work with the Rift, mostly broken. Two different..." he struggled, uncertain what to call them.

"Species," Jack said.

"...who might be along the same lines."

"Gimme the serial numbers on the artefacts."

Ianto's fingers slipped twice as he keyed up the commands and a printer in Jack's office whirred softly. Jack's hand was still there, a slight warm pressure. 

"You're not insane," he said in Ianto's ear. "You aren't a killer. Make some coffee, get your coat, we'll get through tonight and figure out the rest tomorrow."

"Does Torchwood ever stop getting-through?" Ianto asked, keeping his voice low.

"We work to the job."

"Yes sir," Ianto replied, and ducked away from Jack to retrieve the serial numbers. Jack reached around him, keeping him from going very far, and took the printout from his hand.

"Martha," he said, tapping his comm. "I've got six more for you. Ready?"

He gave Ianto a gentle push in the direction of the coffee machine, and Ianto took the hint. 

***

The Egg came through at 2:37 precisely.

Ianto knew this, because when it did it killed Jack. 

There was a ripple in the air, or perhaps a movement -- enough to make him look up, anyway, from where he was passing Martha a cup of coffee. Martha saw it too, and her head turned as well.

At first he thought he'd developed a blind spot, until he realised the air over the near side of the pool was moving, changing, blackening and then turning a garish purple shade. 

Gwen was standing underneath it, on the telephone with Rhys, apologising for another late night. It was high enough and close enough to where she stood that she appeared not to have noticed even as she said goodbye and ended the call.

Ianto opened his mouth to shout, but Jack beat him and Martha both; with a harsh "Gwen, run!" he was bolting across the Hub from the workbench, shoving her out of the way and into the pool itself. Gwen shrieked indignantly but the end of it was drowned out by a sound like a thunderclap, magnified a thousand times in the enclosed space. It echoed off the walls and set Myfanwy screaming. 

A bolt of blinding white light burst out of the ugly purple gash in the air, found Jack where he stood, and struck down on his shoulders, shuddering its way along his arms and legs. Ianto didn't realise he was moving, didn't realise he'd thrown down the tray and begun to run, until Martha grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him sharply back. It wrenched muscles all the way up his arm and he fought to get free, but she managed to get her other arm around his chest. She was remarkably strong.

"Don't! It'll just get you too!" she shouted, over the electric crackle in the air. There was a smell of singed meat, a second thunderclap, and an enormous crash. 

Ianto finally broke free of Martha, afterimages dancing in front of his eyes where the light had burned them, and ran for the fountain. 

Jack was splayed across one of the catwalks, one of his legs dangling over, foot floating gently in the water. Ianto reached him first; Gwen was still sputtering and trying to climb out of the pool, and he'd shoved Martha back when he started to run.

"No, nonono," he said, dropping to his knees and bending to listen to Jack's chest. "No, no, Christ, Jack -- "

"Ianto!" Gwen called, but it sounded distant and unimportant. A hand clutched at his and he pulled away, prying Jack's mouth open.

"Martha, get the defibrillator!" he shouted, tearing at the remains of Jack's shirt. Martha wasn't running for the medical bay, though -- she was behind him, tugging on the back of his jacket. 

"Ianto -- "

"His heart's stopped, get the bloody -- "

"Ianto!" Martha said, and slapped him across the head so hard he saw stars. "He's Jack! He'll get over it!"

Ianto looked up at her. He was aware of his breath coming in short shallow gasps, his hands shaking. It'd just -- killed him. He was dead. Martha was already hauling Jack sideways, spreading him out on the catwalk. Gwen staggered up onto the nearby steps and sat heavily, wringing out her hair. 

Jack's still face was terrible, slack and inanimate in death, eyes staring upwards. His shirt and undershirt were both falling to ash, tatters clinging to his left side, covering one shoulder. Myfanwy was flying tight circles along the ceiling of the Hub, still trumpeting her rage at the disturbance. Ianto clenched his fists against his stomach and curled over against the sharp unwanted pain in his chest. Martha had lifted Jack's head slightly, so that it was resting on her thighs where she knelt. 

"You get used to it," she said quietly. "Jack -- "

She was interrupted by a rattling gasp and a sharp movement. Jack's arms twitched and he inhaled, his eyes still wide but now no longer sightless, casting about for something to focus on. Ianto felt his jaw drop.

"There you are," Martha said, holding Jack's shoulders down. "Got you."

Jack went limp but his chest still moved, heaving in and out. After a second he lifted one hand, ran it over his face, closed his eyes briefly.

"I hate electrocution," he muttered. Then he opened his eyes again and beamed up at her, upside-down. "Great way to wake up, though."

"Cad."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. Oka -- whoof," he said, as he pushed himself up and most of his shirt fell off. "Gwen, you okay?"

"That's the third mobile in two months," Gwen said, and Ianto heard water spattering in the distance. All he could see was Jack, pushing himself to his feet -- he'd died and then he'd just...inhaled...

And now he was standing over Ianto, rolling his shoulders, bones popping in his neck. 

"Oh my God," Ianto blurted. "You were dead!"

"Yep. Now I'm not. Teach you to have a little faith in me, huh?" Jack was bending over, and there was a tight tug on his arm -- oh, Jack was holding onto his arm, hauling him to his feet. Ianto stumbled clumsily and fell against him, burying his face in Jack's bare neck. It smelled like burnt fabric. 

"Hey, hey," Jack said, still holding onto him. "Come on, I'm fine."

Ianto laughed hysterically. "Course you are. Because you die all the time. Oh Christ, you die all the _time_ \-- "

"Shh, shh," Jack murmured. "Deep breaths. Can you stand on your own?"

Ianto leaned back, found his footing solid, and nodded. He pulled away slowly. Jack cupped his face in his hands. 

"Focus, okay? This happens. I need you to do something for me."

Ianto nodded again. Jack ran his thumbs up along his cheeks. 

"I need you to get me a new shirt."

Ianto gaped at him. "You need...?"

"Go down into my bedroom under the office and get me a shirt."

"Right. Right. A shirt. Of course. Because god knows you wouldn't want to be shirtless and dead," Ianto said, but he could feel his breathing steadying out. A shirt. Jack needed a shirt. Shirts were easy enough. 

He turned and walked up the steps past Gwen, into the office, over to the wide porthole in the floor. As he descended the ladder he heard them talking.

"Great look on you, Gwen," Jack. Jack who had been dead.

"Yeah, scuzzy fountain water is just what I was going for," Gwen answered. Ianto reached the bottom of the ladder and rested his forehead against a rung briefly. 

"You should have a sedative ready, maybe," Jack said. Must be talking to Martha. Someone needed sedating?

He pulled open the wardrobe in the corner and took down a white t-shirt and a blue overshirt -- you would think that Jack had a set of identical blue shirts, but they were all different actually, different shades and styles. This one was dark and had the top button missing. He'd have to fix that later. He laid it over one arm and started to climb again. 

When he reached the top, Jack was standing in the doorway, brushing ash from his arms and tossing the useless rags of burned cloth in the bin next to his desk. Ianto offered him the shirts. 

"Thank you," Jack said, wincing as he put on the undershirt. "Still a little stiff. You okay?"

He met Ianto's eyes as he said it, studying his face carefully. 

"Fine," Ianto said, pulling up a smile from somewhere. It probably looked ghastly and fake, but at least he was putting in the effort. "I'm fine. Do you...need anything...?"

"Nope. Gwen's changing. Wanna come see the new Egg?"

Jack turned aside and gestured at the pale blue Egg sitting, dormant, near the edge of the pool. It had cracked the concrete underneath it. Martha was prodding it with a short, stumpy tube of metal. 

"It came down right in the Hub this time. We're deactivating it," Jack added, buttoning the overshirt and pulling his braces up as he walked around the desks and down to the Egg. With a soft hissing noise, the blue casing dissolved into iridescent dust. Martha, he noticed distractedly, had a shiny opaque black mask covering the upper half of her face.

"Neural shield," Jack continued, pointing to it. "One of the cheaper models, but it does the job."

"Opening it!" Martha called.

"Go for it," Jack called back. Martha pulled on the little hatch and the door in the side of the Egg swung open. Nothing happened. 

"And scanner says...clear. It's empty," she added, pulling the mask off. "Ugh, that mask stinks."

"You don't wanna know the last thing that was wearing that," Jack agreed, as Martha tucked it back in a containment box. Gwen emerged from a doorway nearby, wearing jeans and a baggy t-shirt proclaiming HAN SHOT FIRST. Jack looked at it askance.

"Banana Boat left it at our place," Gwen said defensively.

"Banana Boat?" Ianto asked, finally finding his voice.

"Pray you never meet," Gwen informed him. "All right then?"

"He's fine," Jack said. "So. New Egg! Fabulous. Just what I always wanted. Right on time, too. Take the night, get some sleep, let's be fresh for tomorrow."

"Want me to drive you home?" Gwen asked Ianto, still staring at him as if he'd grown a second head. 

"I'm fine," Ianto replied, uncertain how sincere he sounded. 

"That wasn't what I asked, love."

"Yeah but I am," Ianto insisted.

"I'll deal with it," Jack told her. She shot Martha a curious look, but Martha just shrugged, already packing to leave. 

Gwen made a final reluctant-but-resigned noise and went to her desk, gathering up her things. Ianto leaned against a handy pillar for support. He heard the cage door open and then the cogwheel; after it slammed shut the only noise was Myfanwy, still hooting discontentedly in her nest. 

"You wanna crash now?" Jack asked casually, not looking at him. 

"Why start now?" Ianto heard himself reply. Jack chuckled and turned to him.

"Come on. This way," Jack said, taking him by the hand and pulling him away from the Egg. He followed until Jack stepped onto the catwalk over the pool, the pool where he'd died, and then Ianto pulled back.

Jack reached out and took his wrist, thumb smoothing over the pulsepoint, under the cuff of his shirt.

"It's okay. Come on."

He led Ianto onto the paving stone of the lift, his other arm coming around his waist from behind to secure him. Ianto closed his eyes against the stomach-lurching ascent, tried not to breathe in the smell of burnt cotton. When it slid to a stop, he opened his eyes again. They were facing the bay, backlit by the blazing lights of the Millennium Centre behind them. 

"World didn't end," Jack said in his ear. "Kinda humbling, but I'm used to it."

"Jack, what are we -- "

"Shh," Jack said, still holding him tightly. The wind blew across the Plass, cool on his skin -- Ianto didn't realise he'd felt hot, or maybe it was just that Jack still felt cold.

His shoulders dropped, slightly. Jack made an approving noise. He leaned back, let Jack take some of his weight, and was rewarded with Jack's warm breath against his neck. 

"Feel me," Jack said quietly. "I'm alive. Not dead, not half-dead. Lungs working, blood flowing, heart beating alive. Never more alive than right now."

"Come home with me," Ianto breathed. 

"Can't do that tonight. Someone needs to be at the Hub."

"Let me stay with you then."

Jack laughed again, and he felt teeth graze his pulsepoint.

"Any time you want," he said. "We have a little time. Sit down, get your wits back."

He led Ianto to a bench overlooking the bay and they sat, Ianto clasping his hands between his knees, watching the lights on the water. Jack sat near him, leaning back, and watched him. After a few minutes, he spoke again.

"You took it better last time," he said. "Last first-time, I mean."

"The first time I saw you die?"

"The first time you saw me come back. On the other hand the world was ending, so we both had bigger things to think about at the time."

Ianto looked sidelong at him.

"You can ask. Gwen did."

"How many times?"

Jack looked startled, then laughed. "That wasn't the question I was expecting." He glanced away. "One thousand, four hundred and sixty-two. Sixty-three, now."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Sort of thought you'd say you lost track," Ianto said.

"I'm not counting some of them. There are some I roll up into one big death," Jack murmured. "One long, constant death. But it's never any better. Every time you die is as bad as the last."

Ianto considered it. "What does it feel like?"

"Ah. There it is."

"What?"

"That's the question I was waiting for." Jack inhaled. "It's...it doesn't feel like anything. Dark, no sound, no sensation. Just blackness. Forever. And then suddenly...there's light again, heat, touch. Air forcing its way into your lungs. That's all."

Ianto nodded. "How do you survive?"

"Haven't got any choice." Jack stood, shoved his hands in his pockets. "So I just do."

Ianto nodded to himself. _Right. Torchwood. You haven't got a choice, so you just do._

"Can we go back in now?" he asked. 

"Yeah."

***

They made it to Jack's office before Ianto pulled him around sharply and kissed him, an instinct he didn't know he'd been obeying until he felt Jack's hips shift against him, Jack's arm around his shoulders. 

"See, now," Jack said, between kisses, "this is the best part about dying."

"The Egg," Ianto managed.

"Hey, you started it."

"We should -- "

"Leave it," Jack said insistently. "It's not going anywhere."

Ianto opened his mouth to protest again, but Jack pulled him forward and down, settling on the edge of the desk and sliding a thigh between Ianto's legs. From that angle Jack had to lift his face to kiss him, and Ianto realised it for what it was -- a tacit release of power, putting him in control. A light brush of his ego and a reassurance rolled into one. Did Jack ever stop this subtle manipulation of people? 

Still and all, to hold Jack in place by the back of the neck and kiss the breath out of him, that was all right. To rest his weight against Jack's shoulders, that meant Jack was strong and real. 

He'd only known him a week. He wasn't even certain why he cared.

"Drifting," Jack said, bringing him back to himself. Jack was looking up at him with a thoughtful frown on his face. "You're tired."

Jack's fingers touched his face gently, thumb rubbing along the ridge of a cheekbone. 

"Were we in love?" Ianto asked, before he could stop himself. Jack didn't seem at all surprised by the question.

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"Do you really think the world's that simple?" Jack asked. Ianto leaned into the palm that was pressed to his jaw, Jack's fingers curling in his hair. "You should sleep."

"I need to know you're real, Jack."

"Then tell me how."

Ianto pulled him upright, fingers working down the buttons of his shirt slowly. Jack let him, one hand still on his face, until Ianto ran his hand down over his belt, cupping him through his trousers. He hissed, and the fingers in Ianto's hair tightened. Ianto's other hand twisted in his shirt and pulled him upright. 

In the time it took to think of it they were struggling towards the ladder that led to Jack's bedroom, fighting as they kissed, shoving and scratching as they undressed each other. Ianto pushed and wrestled until Jack was backed against the ladder, legs straddling the porthole, and then he grinned and bit Jack's lower lip. 

"Stay there," he said in Jack's ear, and held onto his shoulders as he stepped onto the top rung. Jack stayed, but his hands drifted to Ianto's elbows, easing him down until he could grip a rung. Ianto nipped at the half-exposed flesh of his stomach before sliding down the ladder. He could hear Jack clambering after him as he groped for a lightswitch. 

Jack caught his wrist, eyes gleaming in the dark, and Ianto retaliated, turning and shoving him onto the bed. Jack laughed as he fell, enjoying the roughness of it, and -- 

***

Ianto woke to the sounds of a quiet Hub: computers humming, Myfanwy warbling some song to herself, the pneumatics whispering and purring as they pumped the fountain water. 

He blinked.

He was in Jack's bed, half-covered with a rough blanket, naked underneath it. The last he remembered was climbing down the ladder, looking for a light and Jack stopping him -- 

And then nothing. Waking. A gap that felt too familiar, horribly familiar. 

He shot out of the bed and was halfway up the ladder before he saw light in Jack's office and realised that bursting into a well-lit Hub naked might not be his wisest move. He froze.

Jack was at his desk, head bent over a sheaf of paper, but he looked up when he saw Ianto. He leaned back, grinning.

"Not that exhibitionism isn't fun and occasionally profitable, but I don't think Gwen would approve," he drawled.

"Have I been retconned again?" Ianto asked. Jack sat forward sharply, the legs of his chair banging on the floor.

"What? No," Jack said. "It's not a hobby. Are you missing time?"

"What's the date?" Ianto asked hesitantly.

"Tuesday morning, the seventh."

Relief washed through him. "Okay. Not much, then."

"You remember the Egg this morning? When I died?"

"Yes. And going up to the Plass."

"How much time are you missing?"

"A few hours? I don't know, I wasn't there," Ianto retorted. 

Jack leaned back again and yelled through the doorway. "MARTHA!"

"Yes?" Martha's voice drifted up.

"FRONT AND CENTER! Put some clothes on," he added to Ianto. 

Ianto dropped back into the dim bedroom and fumbled for trousers -- his belt was apparently a lost cause, discarded somewhere, but he stole one of Jack's white undershirts and clambered up just as Martha arrived breathlessly in the office.

"He's missing time," Jack said. "At least two hours. I want a full scan. Now."

Martha dragged him into the medical bay, the cement cold under his bare feet. She shoved him at the exam table and he sat, watching silently as she fiddled with the alien brain scan again. Jack stood on the steps, leaning against the wall.

"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked, as she began fitting electrodes to his head. 

"I..." Ianto hesitated, glanced at Jack. Martha caught it.

"Confidentiality, remember?" she said. "I can guarantee that whatever you were doing, I've heard worse. You want Jack to leave?"

"No..." Ianto hesitated again. "I remember the Egg. Everyone left. Jack and I went up to the Plass, came back down. We were in his office..."

He could feel heat rush to his face. Martha fitted an electrode just under his jaw. 

"I remember..." he took a deep breath. "I climbed down to the bedroom, and Jack came after. I shoved him onto the bed. And then nothing until I woke up."

"Oh," Jack murmured. "You don't remember."

"What's he missing?" Martha asked in her coldest, most clinical voice. 

"It was rough," Jack said casually. 

"I don't feel, uh, sore," Ianto offered.

"You wouldn't," Jack said, and apparently couldn't resist grinning. Martha glanced between the two of them.

"Was there any trauma?" she asked. "Physical? Mental?"

"Not that I noticed," Jack replied. "I know what I'm capable of but I've never made anyone repress before. Pretty much the opposite."

"H'm," Martha said, hooking the electrodes into sockets on the scanner and activating it. "Well, the sexual legacy of Captain Jack Harkness aside, we piled a lot on you yesterday," she said to Ianto. "You were looking pretty peaky when we left. Potentially it's just emotional trauma, some weird wiring in the brain."

"That's your professional diagnosis?" Ianto asked. "Weird wiring?"

"If you were trying to repress what we told you last night and your short-term memory was a bit off, yes," she said sharply. She turned to Jack. "Is it possible there was any Retcon left in his system that could have, I dunno, late-released?"

"It's designed not to," Jack answered. "I've never seen someone forget days after they were drugged."

"But you don't normally administer a four-year dose."

"I've seen longer with no ill effects." Jack crossed his arms, leaned over to look at the scan as it progressed. "If Adam's still in there I want to know."

"Not seeing anything yet," she said. "But I didn't see much last time even when I knew where to look. He's a tricky bugger. It's good odds this is just stress."

Jack cocked an eyebrow at Ianto. "One for my personal record-book, then."

Ianto looked away -- first at the tile of the wall, then down at his hands. There was dried blood under his thumbnail, and more under the nail of his ring finger. He held it up.

"Is this yours?" he asked Jack.

"Your hand?"

"There's blood."

"Oh. Yeah," Jack said with obvious relish. 

"Is that, um, out of character?" Martha asked. Jack narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Hard to say. I wouldn't call it unknown," he said. "Especially now."

"As opposed to before," Ianto said.

"Hey, uninhibited suits you, that's all I'm -- "

"Jack, time and place," Martha scolded. 

"He asked," Jack shrugged. He was putting on a casual act, flirting, making filthy remarks, but everything in his body language said precisely the opposite: arms crossed over his chest, thighs tense, back ramrod straight. 

"Did I choke you?" Ianto asked. 

"No," Jack said sharply. 

"Not even -- "

"No."

"Well. That's something, I suppose."

Martha frowned at her readout. "I'm not seeing anything here, Jack. As far as I can tell he's clean. Then again, we can't really know without..."

The words hung in the air until she swallowed and finished. 

"We could use the probe again."

"No," Jack insisted.

"It'd confirm for certain -- "

"I'm not doing that again," Jack said firmly. He was pale, now, lips pressed in a thin unhappy line. "We'll put the trackers back on if we have to, but we're not putting him back in the chair."

Martha turned to Ianto and gave him a resigned look. 

"It's probably stress," she repeated, coiling up the cords from the electrodes, pulling them off him gently. "Not enough sleep, bad food, strange environments."

"Put the tracker back if you want," Ianto said. "I'd rather know where I've been if it happens again."

"You didn't leave the bed," Jack said, arms easing down to his sides. "You slept."

"Is that what they call it now," Martha murmured, and Ianto smiled at her. "Come on. I'll get you breakfast, drive you back to your flat. You need clothing that isn't wrinkled, or someone else's."

"Monitoring me?" Ianto asked lightly.

"Yes," she replied. "That and you oughtn't to be alone if you're having conscious blackouts."

"Great," Ianto sighed. 

"Oi! I'm good company," Martha answered. "I'm making you buy breakfast, for that."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Water pistols," Ianto observed. "We're going to save the world using water pistols."

There were dozens of new readings to be sifted through, that much was evident. None of the other Eggs had come down anywhere near the kind of sensitive equipment they kept in the Hub. There were machines to measure everything from its density on arrival to the width and breadth of the rift it had passed through, and aside from that there were other readings from past events to compare it to. By the time Ianto and Martha returned, Jack and Gwen had covered a board with bits of paper and diagrams, some hand-drawn. 

"It's a theory," Jack was saying as they entered. "It's good, but it's still a theory."

"But it makes sense!" Gwen insisted, then fell silent when she saw them waiting for the cage doors to open. Jack turned with a ready smile.

"No suit?" he asked. Ianto looked down at the oxford shirt and jeans.

"No, thanks," he replied, and gestured Martha through the doors first. 

"Still a gentleman though," she said, walking up to the board. "So, what've we got?"

Jack looked amused. "Here it is. Eggs, scrambled."

"You're awful."

"Look at this," Gwen said, moving past Jack to the left side of the board. "Here's a normal Rift spike, right?"

"Normal," Martha repeated.

"Well, natural. Occurring on its own. Here's the spike, random activity patterns, and then an afterspike," Gwen continued, fingers tracing what looked to Ianto like an arbitrary series of lines. "We've dozens of these, hundreds if you go back far enough. Here," she added, pointing to another group of lines on a separate sheet of paper, "is what we took off the last two intentional spikes. When we -- "

She glanced at Jack, who gestured for her to continue. 

"When we opened the Rift last year, using the Manipulator, and again when John Hart opened it a few months ago. They're not controlled, but they're more regular. And if we fit the last time the Manipulator opened the Rift up against the readings the computers grabbed last night when the Egg came through..."

She pulled one of the charts off the board and held it up over a third chart, aiming a lamp at both of them. The lines weren't the same length, but they were in all the same places. 

"It's definitely intentional," she finished.

"Hadn't we already decided that?" Ianto asked, confused. 

"It's just proof. Groundwork, right? So, now, look at where the Eggs came down. One in Cardiff, very near the Rift, underground. Then one in London, bit further off, aboveground. Then one still aboveground in America, but then after that we're back to Cardiff, over the Bay -- really close by," Gwen's words were picking up as she established each location. "Like they were aiming for us and got close, then a bit further off, then further off still, then they realised what they were doing -- "

"And came back to Cardiff. Went the other way," Martha finished. "Happens to me driving round London sometimes. You get lost, you finally see you're going the wrong way, you get your bearings and turn around."

"And then the next one's actually _in_ the Hub," Gwen finished. "So could be they're aiming for us."

"Or it's a random pattern that keeps hitting us because we're on the Rift," Jack added. "We don't know yet."

"Not enough data -- just like whoever's sending them," Gwen replied. 

"Seems pretty solid to me," Martha said. "Ianto?"

"I...think I don't understand enough about these to know," Ianto found himself saying, with an ingratiating grin for Gwen. In the back of his mind some sort of alarm was going off, but it was distant and unimportant at the moment. "Got one or two ideas, though," he added.

"Oh?" Gwen tilted her head.

"Let me..." he glanced at the tech desk. "Research. Let me polish them a bit. Am I still cleared on everything in the database?"

"Should be."

"Probably best for him anyway," Martha smiled at him. "Sit, work, rest a bit. I'm going to have a look at some of this kit -- "

"Readings," Gwen said, holding up another sheaf of paper. "Jack?"

Jack looked oddly amused. "Don't let theory get in the way of evidence. I'll help Martha."

Ianto settled into the chair at the tech desk without difficulty, Martha and Jack at the workbench on the other side. Gwen gave him an odd look -- oh, of course, he was sitting in Toshiko's chair. 

_Lovely, vulnerable Toshiko --_

He turned his mind back to the computer. Jack could see everything he looked at, if he wanted, but Jack was going over some odd boxy wire contraption, explaining the triggering mechanism to Martha. Still...

He logged into the database and began carefully researching around the subject he wanted, calling up specs on the toys Martha and Jack were working on, revisiting some of the profiles on the various aliens he'd found. Sure enough, after about an hour, Jack went back into his office and logged on briefly. Ianto continued to page through the report he was on, watching Jack out of the corner of his eye. He could simply be looking for some supporting research on whatever it was that he and Martha were working on -- but he could be checking Ianto's search history, too. 

Jack frowned and glanced at him. Ianto kept his head still, bowed over one of the monitors. Finally Jack stopped to speak to Gwen, a hand on her shoulder, and then returned to Martha. 

Ianto began edging towards what he was looking for -- really, the database was easy if he just let his hands move, let old half-buried memories come to the fore. Cross-reference this item with notes in Owen's medical library, call up a few of Owen's other files -- password protected but he knew all the passwords...

"Ianto," Jack said, and Ianto carefully didn't look up from the monitor.

"Mh?" he asked, calling up a new file to cover the old window instead of closing it down. 

"Lunch?"

Ianto did look up then; Jack folded his hands in a plea.

"Right...any preferences?" he asked, closing out the windows one by one. He'd got a start, anyway.

While the others debated what to eat, he left the desk and made coffee. By the time he was passing round mugs, they'd narrowed it to "that curry place on Letton, you know the one" and Jubilee pizza.

"Listen, seriously, I don't care," Jack said, as Gwen waffled. "I just want some protein."

"Jubilee does kebabs now," Ianto said, and all three of them looked at him. 

"Since when?" Martha asked.

"Two weeks ag...o," Ianto trailed off and made an appropriately annoyed face. "That's getting annoying."

"It's fine," Jack said, a little too quickly. "Okay, whatever, get a pizza."

Gwen beamed at Ianto. "Peppers and sausage. Are you in?"

"Not that hungry, really," Ianto said. "Martha?"

"I'll split with Gwen."

"Kebab and chips," Jack called after him, as he went into the office to sign out petty cash. Gwen snickered. She always did that; it was the way Jack had of saying incredibly British things with his drawn-out American accent. 

Ianto raised a hand to acknowledge he'd heard. Turning around, he found Gwen at his elbow. 

"I'll come along," she said cheerily.

"Chaperone?" he asked.

"Martha frets," she whispered.

"She's not the only one," he whispered back, and dropped her a wink. She covered her mouth. "Come on then."

He called the order in as they walked. By the time they'd reached the little storefront stand, Gwen and Martha's pizza was just going into the oven. They leaned against the counter in one corner and made small talk with the cashier while Ianto ate Jack's chips out of their greasy paper sack.

"Boss letting you off the leash?" the boy asked, beaming at him. 

"Sorry?" Ianto asked. Marcus, that was the boy's name. He filed it away. Might be important, you never knew. 

"Good look for you," Marcus said, nodding at his clothing. "Little less accountant, little more student-glam."

"Glam," Gwen repeated, grinning.

"Oh yes, that's me, glam all over," Ianto replied. 

"We had bets on, when we didn't see you for two weeks," Marcus continued. "Anna said you'd had a nervous breakdown, Billy said you lot had changed shops."

"Change from Jubilee? Never," Gwen said. 

"So, well then?" Marcus gestured for them to explain their lack of attentiveness to his pizza parlour. 

"Business trip," Ianto replied.

"Aww, can't you invent something a bit more interesting?"

"Temporary amnesia?" 

"S'all right..."

"What'd you bet on?" Ianto asked, resigned.

"Death in the family."

"Did you hear my aunt died?" Ianto asked Gwen.

"Never! That must have been difficult," she laughed.

"Well, there were the funeral arrangements and all."

"Much better," Marcus gave him an approving nod. Ianto finished Jack's chips and looked down in dismay. Another bag was pushed across the counter.

"Guess we forgot to give you chips with that kebab order," Marcus beamed at him. "And...order up!" he added, as a pizza box was passed over the counter as well. 

"Ta, Marcus," Ianto said over Gwen's shoulder as they left. 

"Nice to know someone'd miss us if we disappeared," he continued, as they made their way back to the Hub. 

"We're probably keeping them in business."

"Not such a bad thing. Don't they ever ask why a tourist centre needs take-away so often?"

Gwen glanced out over the bay. "We've had to retcon them once or twice."

"Ah." He considered this. "Lisa."

"Yes."

"Horrible way to die, on account of a pizza delivery."

"It's in the past," Gwen said firmly.

"Not their past. Not even mine anymore."

"Ianto -- "

"It's all right, Gwen. Doesn't matter. Probably just as well. All that misery...gone in an eyeblink," he mused. All those memories locked away behind a barrier, only a crack here and there to show they'd ever even existed. 

_Isn't it better that way? The bad stuff tidied back?_

He barely hesitated when the thought passed through his head, didn't miss a step, and Gwen was chattering away about how hard it must be, how glad she was Jack was there to help, and he'd really have to tell her what he thought of it all sometime, and he still owed her that dinner with her and Rhys, blah blah _blah_...

When they reached the Hub, Jack ordered them up to the conference room for a real, proper lunch, which kept Ianto from his research for another half an hour. He did go down to the fridge for drinks, and if he nipped into the medical bay to take a small glass jar out of Martha's stores, nobody missed him for that five minutes. 

To show willing he filched a slice of pizza from the girls and plucked the peppers off, leaving them for Jack who ate them with his kebab, half-chewing his food as he related some story about late-night dining options on a planet whose entire global economy was based on cheap beer. 

"So, then he told me what part of the Hrgonk I was eating," Jack finished. Martha giggled.

"I think it's all lies," Gwen proclaimed. "I think Hrgonks don't even have external genitalia."

"Where are you getting your information?" Jack demanded. "Because if Martha told you that, she must not have been there during mating season."

"Such a liar!" Martha said. "Don't believe him, you lot."

"Dunno," Ianto said, grinning at Jack. "I'm sure he only lies about the really important stuff."

Jack was happy, in his element, working with his team around him. All of them were, really, and none of them honestly stopped to think about what he'd said. 

At the end of lunch, Jack caught him by the wrist as he was leaving, carrying the debris from the meal in his other hand.

"Research?" he asked.

"Two more hours?"

"Whatever you're working on oughta be outstanding."

Ianto flashed him a grin. "I am never less than outstanding."

"Confidence. I like that in an employee."

Ianto gently disengaged his hand and dropped the trash in the bin before going back to the computer.

Faster now, not edging quite so much, as if he'd just had the idea -- there it was, in Owen's notes, and he could justify this if he could only keep them all occupied a little longer. Lunch had been late, and Gwen would probably go home for dinner before they all sat vigil, waiting for another Egg. 

There would be time.

Ianto smiled a small, vicious smile and began preparing his presentation for Jack.

***

"Aerosolised Retcon," Ianto said, calling up a display on the computer screen in the conference room.

Jack and Gwen both looked deeply unsettled by the phrase, but Martha leaned forward interestedly. 

"How do you know that can even be done?" Jack asked warily. "Nobody else has the chemical recipe for Retcon. It's not even written down."

"Well, not by you," Ianto replied. "Owen had been doing research, looks like."

Jack's unease deepened.

"What kind of research?"

"Spectrographic analysis, I think," Ianto replied, flicking to the first image -- some charts he'd found in a PDF in the cold-storage of Owen's digital files. "He determined that the Retcon pill consists of an agent and a catalyst, separated and bound in sedative. Is that wrong?"

Jack pressed his lips together.

"The whole idea does sort of depend on it, Jack," Ianto added.

"It's not wrong."

"He wasn't able to identify the agent or the catalyst, but one assumes you know what they are. If these creatures are sending objects through the Rift they must have some physical form. If they feed on memory, exist on it, Retcon may act as a deterrent at the least. Owen theorised it blocked certain types of chemicals in the brain. Presumably chemicals they consume or manipulate to produce energy. Block all contact with those chemicals, they may very well starve."

"Theory," Jack pronounced again.

"Well, we haven't _got_ any fact, have we?" Ianto retorted. "I'm not going to bother with whether Gwen's right or not -- the point is we need a weapon against them if they come here. You know what they did to me. You know better than I do."

Jack tipped his chair back, rubbing a thumb across his lips thoughtfully.

"If we release the catalyst into the air and then the agent, it should give us time to get far back enough that we won't inhale it," Ianto continued. "We have gas masks and hazmat suits, I checked inventory."

"Assuming we get to them before they get to someone else," Jack said. 

"Even then, we can mass-retcon anyone involved. Better than death. Theirs or someone else's. Gwen's confident they'll come here."

"Fallback measures?" Jack asked. 

"Guns. Lockdown. Release retcon into the water supply? Whatever we'd use if we don't use this anyway," Ianto shrugged. "I'm not suggesting a plan, just another weapon in the arsenal."

"Retcon in the water," Gwen murmured, sounding horrified.

"Better than serial killers loose in Cardiff."

Jack put his palms flat on the table. "Okay. Assuming Gwen is right, and assuming Ianto's assumptions based on Gwen's assumptions are right, we'll put it in motion. Everyone's on alert tonight for the Egg. We sleep now, we meet back here at two; be on call in case it comes down in Japan or something this time."

"And the Retcon?" Ianto insisted. Jack rubbed his forehead.

"I have a distribution system that'll work," he said resignedly.

***

"Water pistols," Ianto observed. "We're going to save the world using water pistols."

"Probably not the first time," Jack said, admiring the stash of hand-pump waterguns in the box in the armoury. They looked like they'd once been children's toys -- each was sleek, with a long barrel and a small tank mounted on it, a pump beneath to pressurise the tank with. Someone with either a sense of humour or far too much time on their hands had painted them black, fitted them with rubber grips, and stencilled the Torchwood logo on the tanks. 

Jack held up a jar full of pale amber liquid, almost opaque in the dim light of the armoury. "The agent in its basic form is a liquid," he said, and set it down next to the box. "You never know when you need to distribute a lot of it quickly. The agent's concentrated into powder for the pills."

"Like methamphetamine."

"I'd admire the way you say that if it didn't disturb me that you know that." Jack picked up a long, narrow pipe-cleaner and checked to make sure the watergun he was holding didn't have any clogs in the nozzle. Ianto eased his way up behind him, until he was sure Jack could feel his body heat, but Jack was still talking. "Spraying them with the agent is a good way to get it out there without getting too close. Say we powder-bomb them with catalyst and then spray -- and then probably run like hell. Especially if it doesn't work."

"It'll work," Ianto said confidently. He slid his hand down Jack's sleeve, taking the pistol out of his hand. 

"I don't like shaky reasoning," Jack said, as Ianto wrapped his other arm around his waist and stroked him gently. Jack gave an almost nervous laugh. "I do like that."

"Mm," Ianto kissed his neck. "Gwen went home. Martha too. You should take your own advice, Jack, and take a break from all this."

"What do you suggest?" Jack asked, his voice deep and inviting. Ianto put the pistol aside and began working Jack's belt buckle.

"Well, we do have the Hub to ourselves," he said, reasonably. "I'm sure there must be something we can come up with."

Jack's laughter was still shaky, but less nervous now. "Have I ever told you about naked hide-and-seek?" he asked.

"Interesting proposition," Ianto said, biting off the urge to inform him that he cheated -- he always cheated. 

"Not exactly restful."

"Maybe another time, then." Ianto's right hand had worked its way into Jack's trousers. Jack moaned. Ianto glanced at the jar of Retcon agent on the shelf next to the box, then let his eyes casually slide away. He already knew where the catalyst was kept. And the code to get into the chemistry locker, of course.

Jack pulled away briefly, just long enough to turn around before moving into Ianto and walking him backwards until he bumped into a wide, metal storage box.

"How do you feel about sex on top of a shipment of plastic explosives?" Jack asked, although Ianto wasn't sure he had much choice in the matter.

"Would it be all that different from usual?" Ianto asked, hitching his hips up onto the crate, spreading his thighs around Jack's. It was high enough that their eyes were still level -- such a strange experience, so odd to be with a man after (Toshiko) women, so different to be this to Jack Harkness. "Still explosi -- oh," he broke off as Jack curled an arm under his shoulders and pulled them together. He tilted his head and nipped Jack's lower lip, while Jack's other hand deftly got his trousers open.

"Hitch up a little," Jack ordered breathlessly, tugging at his pants. Ianto nipped the ridge of his ear. 

"Unless you carry lubricant on you at all times..."

"Not that prepared," Jack admitted, sliding his hands up and pushing Ianto's shirt over his head. "Still, plenty of fun to be had..."

"Mmm." Ianto curled both hands in Jack's hair as he kissed his chest. He laughed when Jack moved lower. "You don't have to."

"Tell you a secret," Jack said against his stomach. "I like to." 

"Oh yes?"

"Oh, yes." Jack dropped to his knees gracefully, the way he did everything, as if he never moved until it was the proper time. His breath was warm on Ianto's skin. "Oh yes, Ianto."

Ianto laughed again when Jack spread his fingers across his stomach, then cut it with a sharp moan as Jack's mouth closed around him. God, Jack was good at this; good with teeth and tongue, good at reading his reactions so that when he bucked his hips Jack pulled back too. Never quite giving him everything. Oh god, it was good, and there was an implicit promise in it, that at some point he _would_ and then Ianto could stop trembling, teetering on the edge of falling, waiting for that last brush of Jack's lips -- 

Then Jack sat back, resting on his heels, and looked up at him wickedly. 

"Jack," Ianto groaned, reaching for him.

"Ah ah," Jack said. "I'm not that easy."

"Jack!"

"Want it?" Jack asked, rising slowly, bending to whisper in his ear. 

"Yes -- "

"Then catch me," and he bolted away -- running lithely, easily. Ianto stared after him, breathless. 

Jack and his games.

He did up his trousers, wincing, and found his shirt. No reason not to draw out the suspense a little. Once he was decently dressed, he looked around speculatively. Plenty of guns in here. 

He took a sidearm off the rack, checked to be sure it was loaded, and tucked it in the front of his jeans, a little to one side (still hard, and this was thrilling, wasn't it?). 

"You're going to traumatise Myfanwy," he called into the echoing Hub, passing over the fountain's bridge and looking for convenient hiding-places. He heard Jack laugh somewhere, but the echo was hard to place. 

He whistled, which got another laugh from Jack. And footsteps, more identifiable. Jack was behind the Rift Manipulator, or possibly the wall of his office. He peered around the Manipulator, found nothing, and leaned in the office doorway.

Jack shot out in front of him and caught him around the waist, kissing him as he pulled him close. 

Then he paused.

"Ianto Jones," Jack said in a low voice. "Not to be cliche -- "

"It's a gun," he replied, and shot him in the stomach.

He got two more rounds off, both to the heart, before Jack had time to react. Just as well. Minimised the mess. 

"You'll get over it," he told the body on the floor as blood ran down the cement. He knelt and felt in Jack's pocket -- handkerchief, so predictable -- and soaked it in chloroform from the bottle he'd stolen out of Martha's stores earlier. He shoved it into Jack's slack-open mouth, bound it there with Jack's belt, and then rummaged in his desk for his handcuffs. By the time the wounds had healed, Jack was trussed wrist and ankle. Not that he had much chance to notice, not with the chloroform there as soon as he took that first gasping breath. It might poison him once or twice before it simply knocked him out but, either way, that was Jack sorted.

He turned and walked back to the armoury, collected the Retcon agent and two of the ridiculous water-pistols, and made his way to the chemistry lab.

He had time, now, at least two hours before the others would return. He had all the access codes he required, locked up in Ianto Jones's beautiful crystal-sharp memory. He had a running start, and the not inconsiderable resources of Torchwood at his disposal. And he had the beautiful, beautiful Retcon. 

He pulled on a pair of heavy gloves, set the jar in a fume hood, unscrewed the empty canisters on the pistols, and set to work. 

Once he'd filled the water-guns and armed powder-bombs with the catalyst (thank you, Jones) he tucked the bombs in the pockets of his jeans. He returned to the armoury for holsters and set those and his black denim jacket aside. No need to alarm Gwen and Martha unnecessarily. 

He logged onto the server -- in the background Jack twitched, moaned, fell silent again -- and began systematically clearing out Torchwood's many and varied bank accounts, dumping all the money into one and changing the password and account number (Toshiko had programs for everything, so good at labour-saving devices). 

In the corner, a small machine spat out a new cash card. 

He'd have to lie low for a while, get his strength back. They'd come for him tonight but if he slaughtered them where they stood the second wave would take longer. He'd have time to get away. London, maybe. Jones knew London intimately, and if he got into a real jam Jones's know-how would get him into half a dozen UNIT bases. Not to mention 10 Downing Street.

There was a thought. Creep into the stronghold of power once he had his full strength back, make pals with the Prime Minister. Come back to Torchwood (in a different form, of course) and swipe anything that could get him off this dirtball. Their Rift Manipulator could use some work. 

Later. Right now he had preparations to make. Keys to the SUV -- tracker deactivated, GPS shot out neatly. Some of Jack's shirts and trousers, thrown into a bag and tossed in the back. Leftover food to keep him going until the morning, when he could stop somewhere north of London and withdraw all the money on the account, then double-back. Let them think he was making for Torchwood Two, that little rat's nest in Glasgow. 

It was hard work, moving Jones's body around like this, even with all the practice he'd had before Jones had caught on and tried to kill him a _second_ time. He stopped after a while, sat in Jack's office chair and ate a chocolate bar from his bottom drawer. 

Touching, really, the big bold Captain with a secret sweet tooth. Jack Harkness, sexual connoisseur, liked ordinary milk chocolate. Although, after all, chocolate melted at human body temperature. He could understand the appeal. 

It'd been close the first time they tried to kill him, but the surviving part of him had simply gone to ground in Jones; the second time it was far too close for anything approaching comfort. The Retcon poisoning him, strangling him, driving him deep into the hindbrain, into the most basic centres of instinct and sensation. He'd nearly gone mad there, but he'd survived. Just one little fragment, a shard in Jones's memory. If it weren't for the fear of capture he'd be there still, but terror was a great motivator. And after all, Ianto Jones had so much memory to survive on. 

When this was over and he was safely away he'd find those memories and grow strong again, feed new ones into Jones's head until he went mad -- maybe send him out killing again, because false memories were fun but real memories were so much more flavourful. Once he had no more use for it they could do what they liked with Jones's body. _He_ would have form and shape again. On a planet like this with aliens like humanity to feed on, he'd do quite well. 

He forced himself up again, noticing the time, and left Jack's office. He shut the door behind him, effectively hiding Jack from view, and hooked a comm over his ear, settling into the tech desk to watch the CCTV of the Plass. With any luck, Martha would be early and Gwen would be late. That was generally how things worked. 

He should have taken up with Jones from the start, but Toshiko was so delicious and anyway he hadn't known about the diary or Jones's beautiful, beautiful memory. Besides, the bipolar genders on this world were so absolute, and sex with men just seemed unnecessarily untidy. 

There she was. Martha Jones. Letting herself into the tourist office, then the lift down to the Hub. Martha was expendable, for the most part. She didn't have anything he needed. 

He got up, muscles complaining slightly, and ducked behind the thermal coil to one side of the stairs that led down to the medical bay. 

And he waited.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scholar who carries a gun. Yes, I understand. It's very hard to be both. To want to know, and to know that you can't know, that sometimes the cost of knowing is too high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this was posted in October, I wrote a "prank" chapter seven for Halloween. The real chapter is below; if you'd like to read the prank chapter you can [read it here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/854595/chapters/23043582) \- it's posted as chapter ten of this fic.

Martha was a cautious woman, he decided. A soldier. It showed in the way she walked; she never went through a door without looking around it first, checking for attackers. And yet, she was a doctor first, and it wouldn't be hard to throw her off...

"Jack?" Martha called, as she entered the Hub. "Ianto?"

"Down here," he yelled back. "In medical. Bit of an accident."

"Why didn't you call me?" she said, and he heard her footsteps hurrying forward. She was worried, she wasn't looking --

He stepped behind her as she reached the top of the stairs and brought the butt of the gun up against the back of her skull. Caught her as she was about to fall -- hadn't meant to do that, some little fragment of Ianto pushing through -- and eased her down. 

"Had it under control," he said with a grin. 

He darted back to check the CCTV and saw Gwen's car pull past -- damn, she was moving faster than he'd anticipated. He ran back to Martha and made for the cells, hauling her after him, dumping her in the nearest empty chamber. 

"Gwen," he said, tapping the comm in his ear. "You about?"

"Yeah, just coming," she replied easily. "Why, another Egg come through already?"

"No, but there's something a bit weird in the cells."

"Where's Jack?"

"Archives with Martha. Come down and have a look?"

"Course," she replied, and he waited patiently, counting in his head, until he could hear her coming. 

"Over here," he called. She redirected her steps from the front of the cells to the access ports at the rear. 

Brute strength was never as sublime as trickery, and Gwen knew how to fight, he knew that. Still, she wasn't expecting Ianto Jones to grab her roughly by the arms and throw her into a cell. She hardly reacted until she was already sprawled on the floor and the door was closing behind her.

"IANTO?" she shouted. "IANTO! Jesus, Martha -- IANTO!"

He leaned around the front of the cell to peer at her through the glass.

"Sorry, Gwen. I really am," he said. "Be a good girl and don't shout too much. Although," he added thoughtfully, "Nobody will hear you if you do."

"Oh, my god," she said softly. "Adam."

He grinned. "Hiya."

"Adam, let him go. Let him GO!" she drummed on the glass with her fists, furious. 

"Can't do that. See, they're coming for me, and it's like Jack keeps saying -- you gotta be ready," he replied, dropping his voice to a thick American twang. "See you in an hour or two, sexy."

"ADAM!"

He had nearly twenty minutes before the drop was due, and he made good use of it. He checked on Jack (no longer dying at a regular rate but still unconscious), made certain everything he needed was packed, ate an apple. It was good to keep one's strength up.

Then he settled in what had once been lovely Toshiko's chair, and he waited. 

***

At 2:37 precisely, the Rift opened. 

He drew a water pistol out of the holster over his shoulder, hefting a small, efficient powder-bomb in the other. He'd have to wait until they all came through, or else the others back home would catch on that something was awry. Convenient, the timed drops. Not like them, really, to be so consistent, but he wasn't going to complain. He stood to meet them.

It spread out the same way, black to purple, static crackling around the gap as bodies began to pass through. They came easily, each stepping down the half-foot or so from the Rift-gap to the floor, as if they were simply walking through a badly-leveled doorway. The woman in front studied her hands briefly, crossed her arms, and looked around, but it was the man behind her that caught sight of him first.

"Hello," the man said, the words a little alien-sounding in a new human mouth. 

"Lo," he replied guardedly, as a human might.

"This is cheery," the woman observed, still looking around her. Scanning for weapons and traps, probably. She wasn't a fool, after all.

She'd tracked him this far. 

"We're with the police," the man said. There were two more, man and woman, behind him. "We're looking for -- "

He clicked the five-second delay on the powder-bomb and threw it; it smacked the man square in the chest and then detonated, spraying them all with a fine dusting of catalyst. 

He took aim. 

"Oh fuck no -- " the man yelped, and before anyone could stop him he'd thrown himself in front of the woman. 

Bad move. He'd been aiming for her.

There was a shriek and a hissing noise; the body evaporated. The other two moved swiftly, closing ranks around her. She hadn't moved, was too busy watching him with narrowed eyes. Sending tendrils into his mind. 

He repulsed them as best he could, firing again, then pumping to prime it. Two more screams and that was her little retinue disposed of.

"It doesn't matter how many of us you kill," she said calmly. "More will come after. What do you call yourself here?"

"Adam," he ground out, the nozzle still fixed on her chest. Why wasn't she frightened? They were supposed to be frightened. 

"Ah. A little egotistical of you, don't you think?"

"You've studied Earth history."

"You came here. We had to. The beams weren't much but they got us enough. Language, history, geography -- Cardiff is adorable," she continued, eyes fixed on his. Hypnotic, almost. "So quaintly human."

She was divine, and clever enough to chase him across four planets in two galaxies. It was a shame he'd have to kill her. 

"They'll scour the planet for you," she said.

"Let them."

"You're hurting the human."

"What's that to me?"

She sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that. What are you using, anyway?" she asked, sifting some of the fine powder through her fingers. "They shouldn't have this technology yet."

"I've got friends in low places," he said with a laugh.

"Like the man whose body you've stolen? Murder isn't enough for you? You have to add petty theft into the bargain? Beneath you," she added. 

"Let me go now and I'll spare you."

"Only because you know how unsatisfying it would be to shoot me," she hissed. "Because what you really want, Adam-on-Earth, is to get those lovely pale hands around my throat, isn't it? You think so small."

He tightened his grip on the gun.

"Well?" she lifted an eyebrow. "What are you waiting for?"

He screamed in rage and pulled the trigger, but not fast enough. As a solid weight hit him, bearing him down and wrenching his arm across the muscles so that bone ground on bone, he realised that she hadn't been talking to him. 

He fought, flailing with his hands, and got in two solid punches, but the man on top of him was stronger and faster and angrier -- 

Jack Harkness. 

He slid his hand up around the captain's throat but there wasn't enough power there for him to break into the steel-sided gearbox of Harkness's mind. He wondered just how far he would go to subdue his lover. Whether he would really break Ianto Jones's bones just to get at the thing in his brain. He scratched Jack across the cheek and took a ringing slap in the face for his pains. 

Then the woman was there as well, kicking the gun out of his hand, stomping down on his arm and grinding it into the floor until he screamed and Ianto screamed with him and the world went black. 

***

**The Storytellers**

Jack sat back, still straddling Ianto's hips, and looked up at the woman in his Hub.

"Was that necessary?" he asked, meeting her eyes. She was pretty, short curly hair framing an oval face with pleasant green eyes, but whenever he tried to pin down her features they seemed to drift away from his grasp. There was an air of hardness about her, on the other hand, that was very firmly in place.

"You were pulling your punches," she said with a shrug. "Not that I blame you. Always difficult when it's one of your own."

"I was trying not to kill him," Jack retorted. She offered him a hand up, and he regarded it warily before drawing his legs underneath him and standing without assistance. He rubbed at the raw marks on his cheeks where the belt had chafed, the scratches from Ianto's fingernails that were just beginning to bead up with blood. 

"Well, you were doing a fine job of not killing him," she allowed. "You should tie him up. He won't remain unconscious for long."

She was already reaching for Ianto. Jack shoved her arm aside, stepping forward to block her access to his unconscious body. He lifted him, mindful of his arm, and carried him a few short steps to a nearby chair. 

The handcuffs hadn't been hard to get out of, once he'd managed to shove the cloroform pad past the belt. It had really been wrangling that away from his airway that had been the bitch, but Jack was nothing if not good with his tongue. Besides, even Ianto underestimated the amount of damage an immortal dubiously blessed by the Time Vortex could sustain and stay conscious. Whatever was guiding Ianto's movements hadn't counted on Jack's ability to adapt.

He tipped Ianto's head back, over the edge of the chair, and used the belt that had until recently been on his own mouth to bind the injured arm to the chair's arm. He scrabbled in the rat's nest of tech and wires that was Tosh's "miscellaneous" drawer until he found a set of plastic ties, meant for bundling cords, and bound the other wrist securely, then strapped his ankles to the central post of the chair. He strapped Ianto's own belt around his chest, securing him in place. The woman simply watched, admiring. 

"There are two others," she said. "Run along. I'll keep watch."

"And who the hell are you?"

"An ally. I won't harm him."

"Forgive me for not -- "

"Sir, your people are injured," she said sharply. "See to them. He's imprisoned them."

He leaned over the chair, resting one hand on the back of it. "If you hurt him I will kill you slowly."

"I understand," she said, cool and not at all frightened. Jack gave her one last growl and turned, running for the cells.

"Gwen?" he called. "Martha?"

"Jack!" Gwen's voice -- she sounded unhurt but angry, which was just how he liked Gwen. "Down here!"

He ran to the back of the cells and began keying in the code to release her, noticing through the narrow slits in the door that Martha was laid out on the bunk. 

"Jack, it's Ianto, you've got to find him," Gwen shouted through the metal.

"I've got him, it's fine," he shouted back, opening the door. "How's Martha?"

"Unconscious. It doesn't look serious but I'm not a doctor _Jack what's going on?_ "

"I'll explain later." He pressed his gun into her hands. "Get Martha topside and take her to A&E. Are you listening? This is an order, Gwen."

She swallowed and nodded.

"Here." He handed her his keys. "Go out through the garage. Don't come into the Hub. If it's on lockdown when you get back, call UNIT and tell them to gas and seal the place."

"Jack -- "

"Just do it. Martha will have the clearance codes. Go."

He left her to get Martha to the SUV as best she could and ran back to the atrium. The woman was standing where he'd left her, stock-still. When she saw him, she lifted her hands with a smile -- _still no weapons._

"Your people?" she asked. 

"Safe. Now," he crossed his arms, tightly controlling the anger surging through him. "You want to tell me what just happened?"

She shrugged. "Your man here's a wanted criminal. I came to take him in."

"Damn the civilian casualties?"

"I'm not the one carrying combustible projectiles," she pointed out. She dusted a patch of powder off one arm -- the catalyst, he realised. "Or the one who allowed a criminal access to chemical weapons that should not be in this time period, let alone this locality."

"Time Agent," he snapped, pulling what little rank he could. "Captain Jack Harkness."

"Ooh," she said, sounding bored. "Sergeant first-degree, and I believe you would call us the...Never-Theres. Or the Black Troops?"

"But you're -- " he clamped his mouth shut. A rookie mistake, blurting it out like that, but by the time he'd been born the Black Troops had been nothing but a legend, and nowhere in his travels had he found anything to confirm their existence. "What's your name?"

She smiled down at Ianto. "You may call me Eve."

"Adam and Eve?" Jack lifted an eyebrow.

"It has a pleasant symmetry to it, don't you think? Besides, Captain _Jack Harkness_ , the Time Agency isn't in very good standing right now, is it? Used to be one couldn't throw a stone without hitting one of you. Now...well. We came across a man who said he'd seen one wink right out of existence. And a woman who'd worked as a nurse for an Agent who'd lost her mind -- seems all she could say was that you'd lost your Centre."

Chill fear swept through him. The Centre, the mongrel hybrid of human and alien technology, the supercomputer. A quintrillion calculations per second and a Vortex manipulator that kept the Agency's home office stable -- the mechanism that told Agents where to go to patch the past, to fix it and keep causality from slipping in the wake of the Time War. 

If the Centre was lost small wonder the Agency was dying. 

"You haven't worked for the Time Agency in a long while, I think," Eve said softly.

"No."

"A wise move, as it turns out."

"What are you?" Jack demanded. 

"I've told you. I'm a Sergeant first-degree with the Black Troops."

"That doesn't actually mean anything to me."

"No, I suppose not. But you're aware of my race?"

"Only stories," he said.

"How humbling. We're just archivists, Captain, librarians. You might say that you protect the physical past, but we protect the past-as-remembered. We gather memory. We make sure that forgotten things are found."

"Nothing's been forgotten here. Not before he came, anyway."

"Well. When I say we, I speak of the race as a whole. In this particular case, I protect our interests. Our...reputation. You'd call me a policeman, I think." 

"And what would I call Adam?" Jack asked. 

"A monster. If one wanted to be kind, a throwback." 

"A throwback?" Jack retorted.

"Indeed. A violent individual, slave to greed, serving his own ends -- tell me, how many people has he killed here?"

Jack looked down at Ianto.

"Four," he admitted. "That we know of."

"You must have caught him early, then. The last place he passed through, we counted twenty-two confirmed kills. Before that, he set an entire planet against itself. For fun, I think."

Jack sucked in a breath.

"We almost got him then; he's fast on the go, but not as clever as me," she said indifferently. "Sooner or later he'd have been caught. It's very pleasing to find you so...resourceful in detaining him for us."

"We didn't detain him. We tried to kill him. Twice."

"We don't die easily. Though it's admirable work. There's nothing else to be done with him anyway -- "

Jack moved swiftly, putting himself between her and the chair where Ianto was slouched, still unconscious.

"No."

"He killed three of ours as well," she said.

"You don't seem too broken up over it."

"Their memories are preserved in me. We are a collective, when we wish. What one knows, all know, if the time and place are right. He can't be allowed to poison the collective with the memories he has, and he can't be cut off and simply allowed to kill his way across the galaxy."

"You want him, you come through me."

She stared at him for a second, and then laughed.

"You think this is funny?" he said.

"You think I'm going to kill the boy!" she said merrily. "I can see why Adam liked it here. Such a black-and-white way of thinking. Even from a Time Agent who thinks we're nothing but stories." When he didn't join in her amusement, she sobered. "We don't kill other races, Captain. Our ancestors did enough of that. We used to be warriors -- we flung whole planets at each other, and they were happy to die for us. They remembered us as gods. We were genocides...the power must have been unbelievable. Now...well. All that was over long ago." She hesitated briefly. "In these stories you've heard, were the Time Lords ever spoken of?"

Jack found himself speechless. She nodded.

"They were great law-keepers...once," she said sadly. "They sent a man to stop my people. A single man brought centuries of slaughter to a standstill. He lives fondly in our memories, though at the time he wasn't thought well of. Respected, yes, but despised nonetheless. There's no doubt he was a bit arrogant, but then perhaps it was well-earned."

_Oh God, oh Doctor, Oh God --_

"You know of Ka Faraq Gatri," she said. The expression on his face must have made it plain. "So he touches this world, too. That's good; perhaps he'll draw your people as he drew mine."

"I don't..." he trailed off. "I can't..."

He was saved by a quiet moan from behind him -- Ianto was waking up. She circled him easily and crouched in front of the chair, carefully keeping her distance as she watched him begin to move. 

"I live for stories -- we do love them -- and when this is all over, maybe you'll give me a story or two of Ka Faraq Gatri," she said to Jack. "I so rarely hear nice stories. Now, however...is there touch-taboo in your culture? Will you let me touch him?"

"Wait," Jack said, as Ianto straightened in the chair. He tugged his arms against the restraints and then cried out when the belt cut into the flesh of his injured arm. 

"Jack?" he said, bewildered. 

"I'm here," Jack said quietly. 

"What -- oh, no," Ianto looked horrified. "No, oh, no -- "

"Shh, be easy," Eve said, smiling encouragingly at him. "You're no harm to anyone now. Poor child -- he did all that and left you to wake up and face my wrath. Hardly fair at all, is it?"

Ianto turned his head, obviously looking for Jack. He stepped into his line of vision. 

"Gwen and Martha are fine," Jack said. "They're on their way to the hospital."

"He's still here," Ianto said, his voice low and rough. "You have to -- lock me up, kill me -- "

"No-one's getting killed," Jack interrupted. 

"Certainly not. Ianto -- Ianto Jones, isn't that right? Sweet name. Musical to the ear," Eve said. Ianto wouldn't look at her. "And such a pretty mind you have. In our part of the universe you'd be much sought-after."

Jack watched her, aware that Ianto was watching him. She was very still, but her voice was enticing, as if she were speaking to a frightened animal. Soothing. 

"Of course, I doubt you'd like a life that soft -- and you have a purpose here. A scholar who carries a gun. Yes, I understand. It's very hard to be both. To want to know, and to know that you can't know, that sometimes the cost of knowing is too high. But you've allied yourself well, I think, allowed yourself to be trained as you should. You accept because he wishes it, eh? And trust that you will understand one day why he wishes it...oh yes, Ianto Jones. I think we know each other very well, you and I."

Ianto's eyes drifted down to hers, his breathing slow but shallow. Jack tensed, ready to shove her aside if he had to.

"I think this will be easy, a meeting of the minds. I understand the full balance of loss. So much grief for one small solitary child -- but the grief is better than the missing of it, isn't it?"

Ianto's eyes were huge and unfocused. He looked almost drugged. 

Eve lifted her hands slowly. "May I touch you?"

He nodded, but when she leaned forward his face twisted sharply into an ugly, vicious mask and Jack pulled her back by her shoulders just before Ianto's teeth would have closed over her fingers. She sighed.

"Adam," she said. 

"Don't listen to her, Harkness," Ianto snarled -- or Adam snarled, through Ianto. "She's conning you. She'll kill him to kill me. She's a jackboot thug, she doesn't care about Jones -- "

Jack regarded him steadily. "And I suppose you do," he said. 

"I didn't kill him, did I?" Adam demanded. "All I did, I did to live. I'm not the one who killed four years of his memories. I'm not the one invading Earth -- "

"Now, that's just a fallacy," Eve said, sounding almost amused. "You invaded first, after all."

"I was trying to survive!"

"Captain, I'm afraid you may have to hold him down," Eve said. Jack looked back and forth from Ianto's sneering face to Eve's serene one. On the whole, personally, he preferred open emotion to none at all...

"Captain," Eve said again, an unmistakable command in her voice. "If you want the boy back you will have to hold him."

"Let her in and we both die," Adam screeched. "Ianto doesn't want you to kill him, Harkness -- "

Jack's hand shot out, gripping his hair (Ianto's hair, fine and sleek, curling with damp in the shower of a morning) and pinning his head back against the hard edge of the chair. He held him there as he circled around, leaned over him from behind and looked him in the eye.

"Ianto's not the kind of man to like someone else running around in his head," he said harshly. "And he _is_ the kind of man to give up whatever he has to give to keep people safe. He's Torchwood, see. Always was, always will be."

Ianto's whole body convulsed with Adam's efforts to free himself, but the bindings held. 

"So if she's going to kill him, then he'd rather have death than you," Jack continued, tightening his grip. Silently he promised Ianto, if he survived, at least a week off somewhere warm and comfortable. "Nobody wants you, Adam. Nobody loves you. Nobody needs you. So now it's time to say goodnight."

Which was when Eve leaned over Ianto's body and pressed her thumbs against his jaw on either side, fingers cradling his ears. Adam -- Ianto -- Adam screamed high and shrill and the wheels on the chair rattled. Eve simply kept her grip, didn't move, didn't change from a look of intense concentration until there was one final whole-body arch that nearly sent the chair tipping over. 

Then there was silence. 

Jack eased Ianto's head down slowly, stroked a hand over it to smooth down the hair he'd gripped. Eve released his jaws with a small, sharp movement, as if she'd been shocked.

"Is that all?" Jack asked, surprised.

"He was willing," she replied. "I've never seen anyone so undefended. He really was willing to die, if he had to. He would have given up everything he was."

"But he didn't," Jack said sharply, half-question.

"No. Your Retcon is vicious but clumsy, by the way. Tastes like grease," she added, making a slight face. "What we caused to be done, we undo. Adam is dead, and your Ianto Jones is yours again."

"And where does that leave you?" he asked. 

"Take the boy somewhere safe. Give him nourishment. See to your people. I..." she glanced around as if seeing the place for the first time. "Well, I'll hear some stories. This is a nice place, Cardiff. If there's time, I'll come back for some of your stories, Captain. If not, eventually someone will. After all, it's not like you're going anywhere." She smiled lightly at him. "I won't disturb your little planet unduly. By this time tomorrow I'll be home. With a bonus for executing the throwback."

"Nice for some," Jack muttered. She tilted her head at him.

"One last favour," she said. "You won't regret it."

"Oh?"

"Close your eyes."

Jack looked at her.

"Close your eyes, I won't hurt you. Tell me a story of Ka Faraq Gatri from your home."

He opened his mouth almost before he'd thought about it, but he never got a word out. She was kissing him, her mouth sweet and warm and slightly unreal.

An image rose in his mind, a memory that wasn't his, of the Doctor -- his Doctor -- standing at the door of the TARDIS, gazing out across a windswept grass field. Success glowed on his face. He looked happy, he looked delighted in a pure way, self-satisfied and smug the way Jack loved the Doctor best. 

_I've just remembered. I can dance!_ a voice crowed in his mind, and then it _was_ his memory, almost his first clear memory of him, the Doctor dancing Rose around the column of the TARDIS and laughing with _In The Mood_ playing in the background. 

When she pulled away Jack opened his eyes and found hers. They were wide and so pleased. 

"You knew him!" she said, delighted. "Oh, yes. Oh yes, Captain Jack Harkness. A story from your own lips! Thank you."

Jack gaped at her. The image was still strong in his mind, settling in as if it had always been there: the Doctor and the grass. The victory of Ka Faraq Gatri over the barbarism of her people, he realised. The end of the slaughter. The Doctor triumphant. Memory for memory.

"Now," she added briskly. "Untie the boy, splint his arm, care for him. I should warn you it's likely he'll sleep for some time. Let him rest."

"The Eggs -- " Jack managed, hurrying, as if she might disappear any second. 

"They're wood, Captain. Burn them for all we care. Ianto first. Quickly, quickly," she added, and Jack bent to unbuckle the belts, to slit the plastic ties with a pocket-knife and re-bind one of the belts around the broken arm as a makeshift splint. He hefted Ianto gently and was already on the invisible lift, rising up, before he realised he'd left her behind in the Hub.

Or not -- when they surfaced he saw a flash of colour, short curled hair and green eyes, as she disappeared into the Cardiff night.

He tapped the comm in his ear and almost cried with relief when Gwen answered.

"Have them send an ambulance to the Plass," he said.

"Is Ianto -- "

"He'll be okay. I'll tell you about it when we get there. How's Martha?"

"Awake," Gwen said. "Are you sure, Jack?"

Jack pressed his face into Ianto's hair, a brief kiss, the reassuring warmth of his body in his arms.

"I'm sure," he said.

***

**Then**

After Ianto was unconscious, after Martha had taken the readings she needed and removed the IV needle from his arm, Jack sent them away. 

He untied Ianto's wrists and ankles and undressed him carefully. The sedative they'd used in the intravenous mix made for deep sleep, but Ianto was a restless sleeper at the best of times. Better he have the freedom to move. 

He shrugged out of his coat and spread it across him as if it were any consolation at all. Ianto loved the coat, and Jack hoped -- as he suspected what was left of Ianto had hoped -- that the lure would be too great. The mystery would appeal too much to be left alone. 

Better some form of him than nothing of him at all.

He hung the DVD carefully on a hook on the wall, pressed on the note to make sure it was in place, and shut the door. 

Gwen and Martha were waiting for him in the car. 

"He'll come back," Gwen said confidently.

" _He_ won't," Jack said. "Someone will."

"Jack -- " Martha started. 

"I saw the Doctor's language written down, a few times," he said, ignoring her. "It's all circles. He taught me to write my name in it -- I think he thought it was funny. Circles inside of circles. Everything they did showed how well they understood the universe."

He leaned his head against the window.

"Everything goes in circles," he said. "And I've just closed one."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ianto Jones woke up in a bed that wasn't his, in a flat that wasn't his, with a headache he definitely didn't remember deserving.

**Now**

Ianto Jones woke up in a bed that wasn't his, in a flat that wasn't his, with a headache he definitely didn't remember deserving.

On close inspection, he was also nearly naked; stripped to a pair of boxers (his, thankfully) and covered with a thick, heavy duvet so at least his modesty was spared. He still had a moment of panic, a good-god-what-have-I-done moment, and then he saw the blue-grey coat hanging on the door in front of his eyes. Jack's coat. 

If Jack was nearby, wherever he was, then everything would be okay. 

Sort of. 

Most of the time, anyway. 

He tried to sit up and realised there was something on his arm, as well, heavy and awkward -- a fibreglass cast, a cast he hadn't had when he went to bed the night before. He stared at it in surprise for a moment, then decided to ignore the bizarre spontaneous broken arm in favour of reconnaissance, shoving himself upright with his other arm and looking around. 

It wasn't a hotel room. It was far too lived-in, and the furniture was mismatched. It wasn't anywhere in the Hub -- dim grey light was coming in through a window. As far as he knew Jack didn't have a secret flat somewhere but, even if he did, there would probably be less pink and more model airplanes or something. 

There was a photo on the nightstand -- Gwen, leaning over Rhys, arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Oh, well then. Mostly-naked in Gwen's bed. He wasn't sure if that was better or worse than mostly-naked in a stranger's bed. Surely, though...after all this was Gwen...but on the other hand Jack had a weird thing for Gwen and it wasn't like Ianto hadn't noticed she was attractive and always smelled nice. He was only human. So, if he and Jack were both here, there was at least one logical conclusion he could draw, if he wanted to fully indulge in the horror of it.

Oh god, Rhys was going to wring his neck.

He was about to start casting around for his clothing, growing more worried by the second, when the door opened softly and Gwen put her head in. She saw him sitting up and smiled.

"Hi," she said.

"Hullo," he replied fuzzily. "Why'm I in your bed -- "

But she was already yelling down the hall. "JACK! RHYS! He's up!"

Somewhere, someone was brewing coffee. He could smell it. He started to get out of the bed, hesitated over whether he was prepared for Gwen to see him in his underwear _again_ , and stayed where he was. 

Jack put his head through the doorway as well, smiled at him, and gently elbowed Gwen aside so he could enter. Ianto watched in confusion as he sat on the edge of the bed and gave him one of those awful reassuring smiles that did not reassure at all. He must have learned those from Gwen.

"Feel all right?" Jack asked.

"Uh." Ianto held up his arm. 

"Does it hurt?"

"No....it's just a surprise."

"You don't remember it."

"Did I bang my head?" Ianto asked, feeling for a lump. 

"What's the last thing you remember?" Jack countered.

"Well, it wasn't going to bed in Gwen's flat," Ianto retorted. 

"No, we brought you here. What do you remember?"

Ianto frowned. "Work -- leaving work? I left work, I cooked dinner -- you called to ask where the Kyleison report was, I told you it was on my desk...watched the news, went to bed. Did we have a call?"

Jack and Gwen were both staring at him.

"You....remember the Kyleison report," Jack said.

"Yes, I remember the Kyleison report, hard to forget tiny bitey aliens when they did for one's last good pair of shoes," Ianto said. "What's going on?"

Jack looked like he might actually answer a question for once in his life, but just then Rhys pushed through the door carrying a plate of food and a cup of coffee. 

All of his focus was suddenly tightly aimed at the plate. 

"Chicken sandwich and a banana," Rhys said, offering him the plate. "Captain's orders. Coffee."

"Cheers," Ianto replied, balancing the plate on his knees and sipping from the mug. It wasn't half-bad; better than Gwen's. He picked up a piece of sliced banana and chewed on it slowly. It felt like the best thing he'd tasted in years. "And now you're frightening me," he added, because Jack and Gwen hadn't stopped staring at him. 

"You're back," Jack said. "She gave it back."

"Who? Gave what back?"

"The Kyleison report was...about three weeks ago," Jack said. Ianto choked on his food in surprise. "Drink your coffee."

He looked down at it suspiciously. 

"It's not Retconned," Gwen told him. Gwen was not a good liar. She was probably telling the truth. He sipped. "Jack will explain everything. Won't you, Jack?"

Gwen couldn't see Jack's face from where she stood, but Ianto could. It looked almost...hunted.

"Aliens," Jack said succinctly.

"Oh, well, that clears it up," Ianto replied. "Shouldn't I remember Kyleison?"

"Not...it's good you do, but..." Jack looked haplessly at Gwen. 

"We didn't think you would," she said. 

"Why wouldn't I?"

"It's complicated," Jack said. Ianto rolled his eyes.

"All right, easy question. Broken arm," Ianto said, holding up the cast-bound arm again. "Recent acquisition?"

"You were in a fight. You weren't yourself," Jack said, putting a hand on the cast and lowering the arm gently. 

Ianto considered this.

"I was possessed," he said finally. Gwen and Jack's looks told him all he needed to know. "That's why I don't remember. Oh, well done me. Brilliant."

"Memory-feeding aliens. One of them got its claws in you. Took about three weeks off you, is the simple version," Jack volunteered. He seemed like he was looking for something. Ianto met his gaze and held it and apparently whatever he wanted, he'd found. His smile was real this time, small and private, intimate. 

"And in those three weeks I moved in with Gwen and Rhys," Ianto said slowly. Gwen laughed. Rhys snorted.

"We wanted you where we could watch you in shifts. You've been out for about nine hours," she said. "You owe Rhys a visit to the osteopath from sleeping on the couch. And therapy after Jack rearranged the kitchen."

"He always does that," Ianto mumbled into the coffee. "Keeps hiding my cheese-grater."

Jack looked like this was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him; the smile lit up and he lifted the coffee away, leaning in for a rare and frankly quite bizarre public kiss. Jack would flirt with anything that moved (some things that didn't) and probably would happily shag anyone in front of anyone else, but -- well, work was work and play was play and Jack knew the full measure of how much he could get away with, when he was shagging someone on the team. A kiss in front of Gwen -- in front of anyone -- demanded a certain amount of savouring. 

When he was done, Ianto glanced up at Gwen, who looked approving -- and then at Rhys, who looked like realisation was finally dawning.

"I'll go -- I've got -- dishes," Rhys said, red-faced, and hurried out of the room.

"You practically sneak him into the base, you refuse to Retcon him, but this you don't tell him?" Jack asked Gwen patiently.

"Wasn't my business," she said, still smiling. "Besides, keeps him on his toes."

"Sorry, can we come back to the three week possession and the broken arm?" Ianto asked, feeling as if a discussion of Rhys's epiphany that Gorgeous Captain Jack was sleeping with the secretary could probably wait. He picked up the sandwich clumsily with one hand and managed to get a satisfyingly huge mouthful in.

"You're back," Jack said. 

"Yes, very happy we've exorcised me," Ianto said, swallowing his food. 

"It's just..." Jack made a vague gesture. 

"I'll give you some privacy," Gwen said, backing out of the room, probably to find Rhys and tease him mercilessly. Ianto gave Jack an expectant look. To his surprise, Jack reached out and stroked his hair, thumb grazing his temple.

"Eat," Jack said gently. "I'll tell you the whole story. You'll like it, there's lots of sex."

"Just to be clear, once and for all, I in no way slept with Gwen."

"No," Jack laughed. "Nobody but me."

"Well, that's all right then." 

"Eat," Jack repeated. Ianto took another bite, gesturing with the sandwich for him to continue. Jack turned so that they were facing each other fully and began to talk.

It wasn't a pretty story -- parts of it were ugly and frightening, in fact, but Ianto ate and listened and set the plate aside and listened some more. He felt vaguely...unsettled by the idea that he and Jack had still come together, that there was a chunk of time where he hadn't been himself and had decided to sleep with Jack anyway. He remembered how it felt to be twenty-one. He remembered how it felt to be twenty-three and attracted to Jack in those miserable first months back in Cardiff. 

Even before Jack had kissed him for the first time the plain fact of the attraction had made all his pieces fit into place somehow. Knowing himself fully, the breadth of his strength and all the biological and mental quirks that made him who he was -- having a place in Torchwood, outlined and defined -- had been one solid unyielding thing when Lisa's pain and misery had kept the world shifting continually under his feet. 

When Jack finished, with an uncharacteristic "And that's all we know", Ianto let the silence spool out for a while, considering. 

"I'm so sorry, Jack," he said finally. Jack looked up at him sharply.

"It's not your fault -- "

"No, I know that. I'm sorry it happened, that's all. I'm glad I'm...back."

"Even remembering....?" Jack never said Lisa's name if he could avoid it.

"They're my memories. They're all I have."

Jack nodded. "Eve said _the grief is better than the missing of it._ "

Ianto chewed on his lip. "I was...not someone I particularly like anymore, when I was twenty-one. Bit of a loser, really."

"That's not -- "

"It is true. No aim, no drive, no purpose. Little bit of self-preservation, enough to get me to London. Otherwise, mostly a waste of talent." Ianto considered his blanket-clad knees. "London gave me direction. Something to work towards."

"Then killed it."

"No -- but -- what I mean is, Cardiff gave me more. Coming here gave me meaning. You," he said, then felt a blush creeping up his throat at the admission. "I'm proud of what we do. I do something worth being proud of."

"Good," Jack said, and kissed him again. And kept kissing him until Ianto pushed him gently back.

"Gwen's bed, Jack. _Gwen's bed_ ," he said. Jack waggled his eyebrows. "Absolutely not. Besides, I need a wash. And my clothes."

Jack helped him out of the bed -- not that he particularly needed the help -- and went to a nearby chair, lifting up pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Ianto recognised the jeans as bottom-of-his-wardrobe stuff, things he hadn't worn much in years now -- and the shirt looked like Jack's. 

"That's a bit casual, isn't it?" he said, before his brain caught up with his mouth. "You couldn't have brought me a suit?"

Jack looked confused for a second and then strangely crushed. He took two steps to cross the space between them and pulled Ianto against his body, clinging tightly to his shoulders. 

God, Jack was _shaking_. 

He hugged back clumsily, wary of clubbing him with the cast, and let Jack tuck his face against Ianto's shoulder. 

"I missed you," Jack said, almost incoherently, mumbling the words into his skin. He said something else that was totally inaudible and Ianto felt his hands spread on the bare skin of his back, warm where they pressed -- seeking as much touch as possible, knowing Jack. 

He'd never seen Jack like this. Miserable, yes, and hurting, and sometimes just a little mad, especially right after he'd come back from the Doctor, but never this odd vulnerability. 

"I love you," Jack added, as the trembling died down. He leaned back to look at his face. "I do. I love you."

Ianto gave him a reassuring smile. Saying it might be hard for Jack, but then Jack was a hard sort of person to be going on with.

He'd always liked a challenge.

"I love you too," he said, the words easy in his mouth. Jack nodded and released him. "Can I have a wash now?"

Jack laughed sharply, once. "Yeah. Go."

He ran a bath, time-consuming but necessary with one arm encased in fibreglass and cotton padding. It was incredibly weird to be in Gwen's flat, to see reminders everywhere of the life Gwen had outside of Torchwood: earrings in the sink soapdish, Rhys's razor next to them, a steam-damaged photo of Gwen and some of her mates stuck in the corner of the mirror. Socks on the floor where they'd missed the laundry basket, hairbrush on the back of the toilet, blow-dryer on the ledge of the window. The odd haphazardness that comes from a tidy person living with an untidy one. His place with Lisa had been like that. 

He'd rather have the ache high in his chest, when he thought of Lisa, than not have had her at all. This woman, Eve, had obviously understood. 

He couldn't find shoes, but he dressed in the jeans and the shirt and padded barefoot into the living room. Jack was sitting at the kitchen bar, eating and smiling. Rhys was doing the washing up, Gwen leaning on the other side of the bar across from Jack. When she saw him she circled round and gave him an almost ceremonial hug, then took his hand and pulled him to the kitchen, sat him down next to Jack. He took half the sandwich off the plate in front of Jack, still ravenous, and bit into it. 

"Hey!" Jack looked wounded.

"Alien possession," Ianto said indistinctly. "Trumps."

Jack growled at him, but went back to eating his crisps. Gwen beamed. Rhys darted his eyes back and forth between them, more curious now, and Ianto smiled at him.

"It's good," he said. Under the bar, Jack's hand was resting warm on his thigh. Rhys smiled in return.

"Ta. So. You lot going out catching little green men today, then?" he asked. 

Ianto didn't dare look at Jack, but when he looked at Gwen it wasn't much better. She was trying hard not to laugh, her lips puckering to prevent it. 

"What?" Rhys asked. "Oh, you think you're so flash. Listen, I make pack lunches for a woman who chases round after things from other planets, I know what weird is!"

Jack couldn't contain the laughter anymore; it was deep and snorting, and that set Gwen off. Ianto chuckled. 

"Yup," he said, as Jack buried his face in his hands and kept laughing, as Gwen rested her arms on the counter for support. "That's Torchwood. Aliens and pack lunches."

"Well, so long as you know which side your bread's buttered on," Rhys said to Gwen, and kissed her before pushing her out of the kitchen gently. She leaned on Ianto and kept giggling, her arm around his shoulders. He slid his own around her waist, which startled her for a moment before she relaxed against him. 

This was him -- sitting with his people, Jack's hand still on his thigh, Gwen doing her touchy-feely thing. He wouldn't trade that. He wouldn't trade who he'd been for who he was.

"Not for anything," he said, though the others were laughing too hard to hear.


	9. STORY NOTES

On September 27th, 2008, I started writing this story. 

Within the fabric of the story, Ianto Jones is retconned on September 29th, 2008, and four years of his life are taken away from him. 

On October first, in realtime, my LiveJournal was hacked and five years of my journal were deleted in the space of about twenty minutes. 

When they say Life Imitates Art, it's not supposed to be quite this literal.

I honestly don't know where the impetus for this story came from, which is unusual for me. Presumably at one time I did, but I don't remember now. The hack turned that whole time into something of a blur. The week had sucked already, which was probably why I was writing so intently. At a certain level of unhappiness, compulsive creation is pretty much what I do. 

I had been writing the story directly into my LJ posting-client's window and saving it private-locked, gauging chapter length by how much I could fit in before LJ declared it too long to post. Thus, the first four chapters of the story -- somewhere between 35 and 40 thousand words -- were privatelocked on my LJ. If I hadn't transferred them to a word processor file the morning of October first, in order to have it all organised to send to my beta-readers, the posts would have been deleted and this fic probably wouldn't exist. The first four chapters would have had to be rewritten, and on top of all the rest I don't think I could have handled that. I think I would have just walked away from it. 

For me, it's not entirely out of the realm of possibility that this story was some kind of back-echo of the event. It makes me sound potentially a little insane, but I've seen my mum do some eerily witchy things and since adulthood some of them have started happening to me, too, so I'm not going to discount premonition. It wouldn't be the first time I've anticipated calamity. Six years ago I predicted getting hit by a car about two hours before it happened. On the other hand, the world is a very coincidental place sometimes and random things happen. Who can say? 

It would certainly be nice if I could predict something like winning lottery numbers, but if nothing else I suppose forewarned is forearmed.

A couple of notes on the Utah chapters: as many of you noticed, Henry van Statten is a character from the Doctor Who new series, episode 1.06, "Dalek". I hadn't originally intended to work him in but I needed the Eggs to be a little bit scattered, and the only breach I could think of other than Cardiff and London would be one caused by the amount of Alien Stuff he has in his underground bunker. And as I've said in comments, I fully believe that the day the mindwipe machine arrived, Richard the PA withdrew a considerable retirement fund and hightailed it out of the country. Jack probably helped him hide.

Ordinarily this is where I'd put deleted scenes, but in this case the deleted scenes involved Ianto having flashbacks to Suzie, because I find the Ianto-Suzie relationship fascinating. Those scenes didn't really fit, but that's okay -- they actually rose up and _formed a fanfic of their own_ , they fucking unionised or something, so I don't have any deleted scenes. Instead I have a fanfic: **[It Was Not Death, For I Stood Up.](http://sam-storyteller.livejournal.com/144034.html)**

All that's left, really, is the Saga Of What The Hell Do I Call This. 

I couldn't figure out what to title it at first. In my head it was "The Amnesiafic" but eventually I decided I had to find a slightly more compelling name for it than that. First there was "I Don't Remember The Stories You Tell Me" but that's weird and obscure; likewise "Then And First". I thought of doing something with the song "New York Mining Disaster 1941" by Chumbawamba, but then I discovered it was originally a Bee Gees song and I'm not sure I can deal with that. Plus, the lyrics -- while interesting -- give the wrong sort of impression:

_In the case of something happening to me_   
_There is something I would like you all to see_   
_It's just a photograph of someone that I knew --_   
_Have you seen my wife, Mr. Jones?_

Going with a musical theme I queued up all the songs that this story made me think of, and for a while the working title was quite seriously The Road To Morrow. I just kind of like the name. But there was no logic behind it, and the lighthearted nature of the song wasn't best suited to this story.

As I was reading Siddhartha, by Herman Hesse, I considered "Siddhartha On The Path" as well. It is on the path away from the Buddha that Siddhartha has his great revelation about not knowing his own self, after all. Spider, quite rightly, veto'd this. Sometimes you need people who will protect you from your own insanity.

Spider suggested a title associated with the Mundane Egg, which was intriguing and brilliant as I hadn't 1. considered a title referencing the Eggs or 2. known what the Mundane Egg was before she explained it to me. 

I googled Mundane Egg to see what else I could find about it and observed Sam's Law Of Googledynamics: _life's no fun if you don't click the first link._ Rather than make you wade through the bombast of that website, however, let me give you Spider's explanation: 

_In a lot of ancient Eastern mythology -- ranging from Japanese to Sumerian -- the world was hatched from an egg. I have always liked the phrase "Mundane Egg" because it has so many meanings. The cracks in the Mundane Egg are cracks in reality. I'm thinking, since you're referencing eggs in the story, you might call it "A Crack In The Mundane Egg". I like Mundane Egg because it also means something banal, someone's every day life._

I really liked the idea, much better than the ones I'd had, but something was still slightly askew, which is why I went googling for more info. In the end, it's just as well I clicked the first link, because it helped me find what I was looking for. In fact, the link was to a "Book of Earth" stored at, wait for it, **[boe19.htm](http://www.sacred-texts.com/earth/boe/boe19.htm).**

Yes. I found the title for this fanfic in the face of Boe. 

I was skimming the info when I caught a reference to something that sounded interesting, the Theory of Two Centres. The Theory is referenced as a form of the "Mundane Egg", St. Augustine's vision of a sphere of earth floating gently on a second sphere of water. Which nicely symbolises Ianto's conscious and unconscious mind, not to mention Adam hiding away beneath the surface and, more directly, Jack having found a "centre" in Torchwood even as the Time Agency's supercomputer Centre is failing. 

(References to "The center cannot hold" were unintentional but rather brilliant all the same, don't you think?)

Spider agreed that The Theory Of Two Centres was a fitting title, and there it was. I titled it, did a bit more revising, and then sat down to write this.

And here I end.


	10. PRANK CHAPTER

_This is a prank chapter written for Halloween._

Martha was a cautious woman, he decided. A soldier. It showed in the way she walked; she never went through a door without looking around it first, checking for attackers. And yet, she was a doctor first, and it wouldn't be hard to throw her off...

"Jack?" Martha called, as she entered the Hub. "Ianto?"

"Down here," he yelled back. "In medical. Bit of an accident."

"Why didn't you call me?" she said, and he heard her footsteps hurrying forward. She was worried, she wasn't looking --

He stepped behind her as she reached the top of the stairs and brought the gun up, firing once, easily, into the back of her head. Her body slumped immediately, before she could even cry out. A shame to make a mess in the medical bay, but Gwen wouldn't get that far. Probably. And if she did...well, it'd been a long time since he'd gone hunting, really properly hunting. 

"Had it under control," he said to the body on the floor. 

He darted back to check the CCTV and saw Gwen's car pull past -- damn, she was moving faster than he'd anticipated. 

"Gwen," he said, tapping the comm in his ear. "You about?"

"Yeah, just coming," she replied easily. "Why, another Egg come through already?"

"No, but there's something a bit weird in the cells."

"Where's Jack?"

"Archives with Martha. Come straight down and have a look?"

"Course," she replied, and he waited patiently, counting in his head, until he could hear her coming. 

"Over here," he called. She redirected her steps from the front of the cells to the access ports at the rear. 

Brute strength was never as sublime as trickery, and Gwen knew how to fight, he knew that. Still, she wasn't expecting Ianto Jones to grab her roughly by the arms and throw her against the wall. She was still gaping, her reactions slowed by the slam of her head on the stones, when he turned her and handcuffed her. She reacted a second too late, slamming her elbows apart just after he'd cinched the cuffs home. She did try to kick, but he kicked back, turning her again and jamming the barrel of the gun under her ribs. Her eyes rolled downwards. 

"Adam," she grunted, still struggling, but Jones was pretty strong -- all that wrestling with Jack, probably -- and it wasn't hard to hold her in place. 

Wasn't hard to slip his hand up around her throat and smile. Oh, it felt good to take the breath out of someone, it felt so much more real than pistols and stun-guns. She stopped struggling after a while, and then she stopped moving at all. When he let her go, her go her body tumbled down. 

What a rush, what a surge of energy, and what a high. Even Jones, screaming inside his mind, beating on the barriers between them -- even that was something. He could play this again for his host, over and over, and feed on every ounce of horror. Jones was gentle by nature; the sensitive ones were always the best.

Speaking of which...

He left the body in the cells and hurried back to Jack. He caught him on a downswing -- dead, posioned by the chloroform -- and undid the belt buckle, removed the pad and tossed it aside. He straddled him and rested a hand on each shoulder, waiting. As soon as Jack gasped back to life he was there, sending tendrils into his mind, smiling gently and affectionately down at his Captain, oh yes, such a wonderful Captain.

"Hi," he said softly. Jack smiled up at him.

"Ianto," he said. "What're we doing on the floor?" A look of cheerful comprehension passed across Jack's face. "Wrestling? Hey -- did I get shot?"

"Earlier. Remember? I wanted you to prove you were alive afterwards."

"Right," Jack arched his back, pushing his hips up. "I can do that."

"Mm, not here. We were going to London on holiday tonight. Your bags are in the car. Up you come."

"Oh yes," Jack said, as he hauled him to his feet. "Up I come."

"If you're good," he whispered in Jack's ear, "I'll let you do that thing in the car you've been wanting to try."

He lifted Jack's coat from the tree and settled it around his shoulders, leading him towards the garage, carefully steering him around the medical bay and the body lying there. 

Oh, yes. He would have no end of fun with Ianto Jones and Captain Jack Harkness.

***

Hi kids. Sam here. And if you've read this far, I have two words for you: Happy Hallowe'en!

This isn't the real chapter seven, obviously. I couldn't kill off Martha and Gwen! It's just a little prank. I haven't pulled one of these in years, and I thought maybe it was time I had a bit of fun. Besides, all the other pranks I've pulled have now disappeared into the ether -- or at least most of the comments have -- with the Hack. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for "The Theory of Two Centres"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1659923) by [Makoyi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makoyi/pseuds/Makoyi)




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